Balance - Book 2

by Marc Dickason

  *****

  My Place of Calm up until that point had been a matter of personal pride. More then one Academy trainer had even commented on its strength. At that moment, however, looking into the face of Brent Kingston, one of his eyes staring at six o clock and the other at eleven, an exit wound in his cheek that exposed a moist pit beneath, my place of calm did not hold. It exploded like a grenade.

  I was on my feet staggering backwards, mouth flapping and hands clamped on my head.

  “Jet…” Brent said to me. The hole in his cheek whistled with escaping air. “Partner…” He stepped forward until his thighs pressed against the backrest of the couch. Both hands reached for my face. “Partner. Partner. Partner.”

  I screamed; a short squawk that rang in my stomach and stung my throat. Vaguely I was aware Spirit had exploded into life around my body.

  “Oh God,” I heard myself gasp.

  But moments before an attack was released that would have done severe unintentional damage to the apartment, Benny appeared at my side.

  “Disappear!” he roared at his brother, voice trembling.

  In response Brent turned towards him, skew eyes doing their best to identify the new face. “Benny…”

  “Go away!” Benny snarled, “Go away! Disappear!”

  “Brother. Brother.”

  The punch smashed Brent square in the face. If thinking rationally I would have been impressed Benny had demonstrated enough control to use only as much Spirit as required. The release, however, still created a POP that ruffled my hair and sent coffee table magazines fluttering like limp birds.

  Brent’s head went flying back, tumbling in an arch until it ricocheted off the floor, temporarily drawing his body into an unconventional “n.” He hovered that way for a moment, time struggling to catch up and gravity re-establish itself, then he collapsed; spread-eagled. His uncomprehending face gaped at the ceiling.

  Benny acted without hesitation. He dashed forward and sat heavily on his brother’s chest, pinning him to the ground, then in one fluid movement reached down and grabbed forehead and jaw, twisting until neck vertebrae cracked.

  Brent was gone. My warning buzz died away.

  “Oh my God…” I managed.

  Benny looked up at me, face glistening. I thought for sure he would scream. But he did not so much as grunt.

  My mind jabbered madness. I realised I was biting my lip hard enough to draw blood.

  “Relax, Jet,” Benny said, “Find your Place of Calm.”

  I did. Spirit drained away and my heart slowed.

  “You okay?” he asked.

  “I’m okay.”

  “Sure?”

  “Yes, I’m fine, I’m fine.”

  Thick silence descended.

  My gaze focused on his face, mind trying desperately to make sense of the situation. Puzzle pieces were lining up.

  “Holy shit,” I breathed, realisation dawning. “Benny, how long?”

  “Couple of months,” he replied.

  His eyes fell to the floor and mouth twisted into an embarrassed grin.

  “A couple of months? Okay.” I reigned in horror and fought to keep my voice level. “Why didn’t you say something?”

  “Thought I had it under control.”

  “I’m not sure you do.”

  “No, had a little slip I guess.”

  He grinned again, demeanour hinting at a child accused of breaking a window.

  “A little slip? Shit, Benny. You need help…”

  “Yes.”

  “Soon.”

  “Of course.”

  I swallowed. My head sang with a pot-pourri of implications; mouth unwilling to express them. “Is there something I can do?”

  “No. I can handle it.”

  “Okay.”

  He looked up. And this time it was me unable to hold the gaze.

  “Good night,” he said at last.

  And with that he turned and headed into his room.