Flicker

by Arreyn Grey

  After another moment's hesitation, Elise lifted her head and looked her mother in the eyes. “I can't keep pretending it didn't happen, mom. I know,” she held up a hand to forestall her mother's argument. “I know I dress differently, I act differently, I don't have friends, and all that is because it happened. But I feel like I can't even talk about it without getting in trouble-- that even if I wanted friends, I'd have to ask permission before I told them about it. You heard dad the other night-- I don't want that. I don't want skeletons in the closet and big family secrets. I'm paranoid, terrified that someone's going to find out!” She spoke rapidly and finished out of breath, surprised at her outburst. Everything she'd just said was true, she realized with some shock-- she'd just never really thought about it consciously before.

  Marie was frowning at her. “I don't know what you want me to say, Elise. Do you want to see another therapist?” Elise laughed derisively, unable to help herself. “Well then what? I wish I could change what happened! I wish I could have protected you--”

  “Stop,” Elise said firmly, grabbing her mother's hand as she understood where this train of thought was going. “I don't blame you, and I never have. I've just always sort of felt... like you blamed me.” She wanted to look down, but forced herself to continue to meet her mother's eyes. This was something she'd been wanting her parents to understand for years, and she wasn't about to diminish the moment she finally got the words out by lacking the confidence to back them up.

  It was Marie who looked away, pulling her hand gently from her daughter's grasp. “You know, it's funny,” she said softly. “I didn't think I did until two days ago. You were gone, the school had called, your father and I were frantic-- and all I could think was, 'How could she do this to us again?' And then that boy of yours showed up at the door looking for you, and I just screamed at him. I blamed him for bringing all of this up again. And he...” she trailed off, fidgeting with her hands. Elise swore she could actually hear tears in her mother's voice.

  “He what?” She asked quietly.

  “He shouted at us. It's so stupid, because he's just a kid, and your father was standing right there with me, but I've never been more afraid of anyone in my life. He started talking about how we've been pretending that everything is fine, and pretending that you're happy, but how we blame you for having to move. And after he left, your father and I looked at each other and we realized that he was right.” Marie looked up, finally meeting Elise's gaze once more. “I know I've said the words before, but I want you to know that I mean them: none of this was your fault.” She bit her lip, a strangely childish gesture of uncertainty that was odd for Elise to witness in her own mother. “I think... I think I need to listen to you a little bit more,” Marie nearly whispered.

  For just a moment, Elise sat still, dumbfounded. Then her brain caught up with her ears and her body caught up with her brain, and she launched herself around the table to wrap her arms around her mother. “Thank you,” she whispered into her mom's hair, tears tightening her throat. “That's exactly what I need.”

  An hour later, Elise heard the knocking from the nest she'd made herself in the den. She was still in her pajamas, and had dragged the comforter down off of her bed to cuddle up on the couch. Her intention had been to finish Great Expectations for English class, but she'd quickly found that right now she just couldn't focus on Pip's issues. Instead, she'd grabbed a small stack of some of her favorite comfort books and piled them on the floor next to her. She was several chapters into Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone when someone knocked on the front door.

  She was reluctant to get up, especially if it was just going to be UPS or kids selling magazines or whatever, so she was glad when she heard her mom's “day off” clogs thumping down the hallway to the foyer. She caught the quiet murmur of voices, but didn't pay much attention-- after all, Harry's first Quidditch match was far more important than the guy coming to read the meter, or whoever was there. A few moments later, however, Elise wished she had eavesdropped, when the sound of a throat being cleared made her look up to see Alex standing in the doorway.

  She gasped, dropping the book as she clutched the comforter to her chest and heat flooded her cheeks.

  “Bad time?” Alex asked, suppressed laughter in his voice; Elise had to resist the urge to forget the comforter and throw a pillow at him.

  “I was just... not expecting anyone,” she stammered, humiliated that he'd caught her lounging around in the middle of the day, wearing nothing but a tank top and pajama pants. She was just glad she'd elected to stave off the memory of the frigid forest by covering herself with the blanket.

  Alex's brow furrowed as he frowned, coming down the few steps toward her. “Why on earth wouldn't you expect me to come visit you?” He sat on the far side of the couch, giving her plenty of room, for which she was grateful. “I came by yesterday after school, too, and dropped off your backpack, but your mom said you were still sleeping.”

  At the mention of her mother, Elise straightened up, momentarily ignoring her embarrassing state of undress. “Yes, I just woke up an hour or so ago. By the way, my mother also mentioned that you terrified the life out of her,” she segued, eyebrows raised.

  Alex's expression cooled slightly. “I'm sorry if it bothers you that I did-- perhaps you and I haven't known each other quite long enough to excuse such forthrightness. But frankly, I'm not sorry I said what I did-- someone had to.”

  Elise studied him for a minute, once more confronted with the reality of his brutal honesty. Again, however, she knew she'd rather have that than have someone tell her pretty lies. She broke into a warm smile. “Well, whatever you said, it finally got through to her. I don't know about my dad, but my mother and I actually had a real talk today-- and trust me, that hasn't happened in a long time.”

  Alex relaxed, sitting back and resting his arm across the back of the couch. His crossed legs pressing against her feet, and she could feel the warmth of him through the blanket. “I'm glad,” he said sincerely. “So, how are you feeling?”

  Elise considered and discarded several possible responses as she watched him. She could tell as clearly as if he'd told her that he wasn't asking casually, and that his concern was less her sore throat and more her state of mind. Finally, she met his eyes somberly. “I feel calm,” she said simply. “There are times when I can't get warm, like there's a ball of ice in my chest that won't melt. But most of the time, I'm just...” she hesitated, searching for the right word. “Neutral.”

  “I'm impressed,” he said, his eyebrows raised in emphasis. “You've had a very tumultuous few days; really, the fact that you're not curled up in the fetal position screaming bloody murder demonstrates uncommon fortitude.”

  Elise blushed again, a little embarrassed but pleased by his praise. She glanced down at her hands for a moment, but she'd already decided that matching his directness with her own was the best way to approach this subject. “Alex... what you were telling me about, the last few days,” she began softly but surely, spilling the words out before shyness could overtake her. “I've been thinking a lot about it, and I want you to teach me. I want to be like you-- to be able to control all of this.” She had to finish before she could look back up at him.

  He met her eyes squarely for a moment, measuring, assessing. Then he nodded to himself, as if he'd come to a decision. “Would you like to start now?” He asked simply. Elise nodded in return, sitting up straighter. Then she hesitated.

  “Actually,” she said, grimacing slightly. “Do you mind waiting? I want to get dressed first.”

  Alex chuckled, stretching his legs out and crossing his arms behind his head. “You have five minutes-- then I'm getting a deck of cards and we're playing gin instead.”

  Elise laughed. “Oh god, anything but that!” She tugged her blanket, and he moved obligingly to let her pull it with her. Standing quickly, she dashed across the room and up the stairs, unsure whether his laughter was directed at her blanket-clad flight or if he'd act
ually caught a glimpse of the ridiculous purple pajama bottoms.

  Four minutes later, Elise padded back downstairs, appropriately attired in her customary skirts and a deep purple long-sleeved shirt. Her feet were bare, but as a concession to the creeping cold still lodged in her chest, she'd added a loose, sleeveless, gray cable-knit duster that lent a rather medieval impression to her attire. Feeling much more comfortable, she took the time to pause in the doorway to observe Alex.

  In her absence, he'd found his way into her school bag, and was flipping through one of her notebooks-- her Latin book, in fact, she noticed with amusement. “Checking to see who takes better notes?” She asked, laughter in her voice as she came down the few steps into the den.

  “Ah, yes, much more decent,” Alex teased, then held up the notebook to show the page he'd been reading. “I was looking for your drawings, actually.”

  “My drawings?” Elise asked, confused, as she came to sit beside him; she didn't recall using her Latin notebook as a sketchpad.

  He pointed to the doodles she'd traced around the margins on the days when she hadn't been able to focus on Magistra's lessons. “I've been rather curious about what you were drawing,” he confessed, looking almost abashed. “I couldn't tell what you were thinking, just that you tended to fall into a dismal mood, so I was hoping for some clue.”

  “And did you find anything?” She inquired.

  Alex shrugged casually, but Elise noticed his fingers trace absently over a swirling flower, a cluster of stars, and the sketch of a single eye as if they meant something to him. After a moment, he sighed, set the notebook aside, and turned to meet her gaze somberly. “Shall we begin?” It was more of a statement than a question, but Elise hesitated one more time.

  “My mother--” she began, unsure how to articulate her concern that her mother would start eavesdropping on them before long. Alex held up a hand to stop her.

  “Your mother is working from home today; trust me, she'll be safely closeted away in the study until your father gets home.” He spoke with utter certainty, and Elise realized that her mother's plans for the afternoon were probably his doing. She swallowed hard and nodded.

  “Okay, then,” she said, sitting up straighter.

  Alex spoke seriously. “I have begun to tell you about what you have the potential to do; however, everything I've shown you so far has been very subtle. As we continue, I don't want you to have any lingering doubts that what I teach you is untrue.” A short, slender knife flashed in his hand, and Elise gasped-- she hadn't even known he had one, let alone seen him draw it.

  Without a second's hesitation, Alex skimmed the blade across his palm. Elise could only stare as blood welled from the deep gash he'd drawn there. Then she caught a whiff of salt-metal tang, erasing any hope she'd had that this was some sort of trick. Her skin felt clammy, and there was a roaring in her ears. She swallowed hard and tore her eyes away, meeting Alex's steady gaze. “What are you--?” She stammered, nauseated less by the gory sight and more by his cool composure.

  “Watch,” he ordered softly, and Elise reluctantly looked back to the wound on his palm, which was still oozing alarmingly red blood. She heard him take a deep breath and let it out slowly. For a moment, nothing happened, and then... was the cut shrinking? It couldn't be! She blinked. No, it was definitely smaller. The blood was coming slower, and the glistening red flesh was being covered by something soft and pink-- new skin, she realized, swallowing again. As she watched, the skin hardened into a pale, shiny scar-- which then shrank, and disappeared completely.

  “Remember to breathe,” Alex whispered, and Elise gasped air into lungs she suddenly remembered she had. Her jaw hung open, and she knew her eyes were huge as she stared at him. There was laughter in his deep blue eyes, but also a little sadness, as he felt the divide of years and experience between them. She wished she could alleviate that for him, comfort him somehow, but she couldn't help her shock. Listening to his story, feeling their strange mental connection, was one thing-- seeing such irrefutable, physical proof was entirely another. Elise realized that despite everything, she'd never truly believed him-- she'd always held herself back, waiting for the inevitable end, both fearing and hoping that he'd just been playing a game.

  Elise swallowed once more, breathing deep and gathering her courage. Wordlessly, she reached out, shaking, taking his hand in both of her own and examining his unblemished palm. He allowed her to trace trembling fingertips across his skin, smearing the wet blood that still painted his hand. It looked out of place now, with no sign of how it had come to be there. Breathing shallowly, she grabbed a handful of tissues from the box on the coffee table and wiped him clean, shoving the red-pink blobs of spent material out of sight as she went.

  After a minute, Elise felt steady enough to look back to Alex's face. He was watching her carefully, a shuttered look in his eyes. Elise paused for a moment to take stock, and was pretty sure that the only thoughts in her mind were her own-- Alex was pointedly keeping himself separate from her. She winced a little, unable to help the feeling that his self-contained state was because of her reaction to his demonstration. She licked her dry lips and met his deep blue eyes. “How did you do that?” She whispered.

  Alex answered steadily, if still a bit warily. “Cell regeneration is a natural part of life-- our bodies do it all the time. All I did was direct the energy inside me to speed up the process. In this, you'll find little resistance; you're just encouraging nature.”

  Elise could barely wait for him to finish his explanation; the second he stopped talking, the rest of her questions just spilled out in an excited rush. “How long did it take you to learn how to do that? Is it hard? Does it hurt? I mean, does it hurt the whole time, or just at first? Can you heal really bad wounds, or just little ones like that? How does it affect you-- like, are you tired or hungry after?” She finished out of breath from speaking so quickly, and Alex broke into a small, relieved smile.

  “Let's see,” he said, taking a deep breath. “It took me a good deal of practice to learn that, so I wouldn't recommend trying right away. Technically, the majority of us have the potential to learn the skill, but even some of the most practiced of us have never mastered it. The severity of the injury makes it more difficult and more draining, of course. The worse you're hurt, the harder it is to focus throughout, the harder it is to shut out the pain, and the more it takes out of you. It isn't unheard of for someone to overextend himself while healing a severe or complicated wound, and without a steady source of energy to continue to fuel him, he will certainly run out of energy and be forced to stop. At that point, of course, the healing halts. Depending on how far along he's gotten, he may live, and just have to heal the normal way until he is replenished. However, it is also entirely possible that not enough healing will have been achieved, and at that point he would continue to bleed and die. In this drained state, he would be unable to do anything else.”

  “Is energy a finite resource, then?” Elise asked, eyes wide.

  Alex chuckled. “If you're asking if I have a little bar that goes empty, like in a video game, then no. It's constantly in flux. But it is something that must be taken in periodically, like food or drink. Like eating, it is possible to go for a period of time without absorbing more energy, but it isn't very pleasant. And just as you're not really able to run a marathon on an empty stomach and no sleep, there are points where you just can't keep going without replenishing yourself.” He paused, looking as if he wasn't sure he wanted to tell her something, but decided to continue. “I expended enough energy finding you in the woods and bringing you home safely that afterward, I had to go into the city to feed.”

  Elise winced at that, and chewed on her thumbnail as she thought about what to ask next. “So if 'encouraging nature,' as you called it, is easy, what's even easier? Where would a complete beginner start?”

  “Breathing,” Alex answered with a smile.

  Nearly an hour later, Elise was sitting in the middle of the floor with h
er eyes closed, breathing deeply. With each inhale, she tried to focus on her lungs expanding, and on every exhale, she tried to feel the oxygenated blood as it flowed through her body. Alex had told her that the key to accessing her power was to be aware of it-- to be able to feel it as she felt every other part of herself. So now he was sitting across the room watching as she breathed, and hunted inside herself.

  She was nearly at the uncomfortable point of admitting defeat when she thought of something. Alex had said on Saturday that her power was closely tied to her emotions. She breathed deep again, thinking hard; when she'd ever felt anything particularly strongly, had there been any sort of physical sensation? She recalled something, and maybe, just maybe-- to try to urge it along, she called to mind the emotion that was always there now: a heavy, crushing, lonely sadness that hovered perpetually at the edges of her consciousness.

  There, in her chest, just left of center, just over her heart! Elise bore down on her senses, concentrating inward. There was an ache there that, when she focused on it, intensified until it was a nearly physical weight. She breathed deep again, imagining that she could peer inside her own chest and actually watch that little knot of tension grow with her attention. It began to tingle, almost fizzling; she pictured a mercurial ball, shifting and amorphous, dark and glistening but with its surface covered by her memory of hand-held sparklers on the fourth of July.

  As Elise exhaled, she felt that tingling ache, without a thought on her part, spreading from her chest. It crept up across her shoulders, stilling when she breathed in again but continuing as she breathed out, making its way down her arms. She swallowed hard, uncertain what was going on but unwilling to try to stop it-- the sensation made her feel so very alive. The thought crossed her mind that she wished Alex could see this somehow.

  A crash made her jump, jolting her back into reality. Her eyes flew open as she gasped, looking up to see Alex standing. From the way his poor chair was rocking, the sound she'd heard was him knocking it back into the wall in his haste to get up. He was staring at her, his eyes wide.