Title: Wolfe
Author: Ash Kennedy (aka Noodles)
Email: deadclinic@windiain.co.uk
Rating: PG
Warnings: cussing
Spoilers: Dark Visions 1-3
Disclaimers: DV belongs to L.J. Smith.
Summary: The inner reflections of Gabriel Wolfe
In the study room, perched on the alcove seat, the storm-eyed Wolfe sat leaning
against the window. He was alone, bathed in the orange glow of a sun dipping
beneath his view of the horizon. But he could feel the presence of his
housemates through the psychic mind-link he shared with them. A web, of sorts,
that connected all five of them to each other, the very cords that bound them
having been woven in desperation by his own mind. Thinking back, he couldn't
understand why he had stuck his neck out like that. He supposed it had been the
right thing to do but, ha, since when had he ever cared about the right thing?
And now he wished only to snap those delicate mental cords between his teeth,
to tear and rip what kept him so tightly bound to the others.
But to do that would mean one of them would have to die. Despite how much he
hated being in the psychic institute and around the other psychics, it was
nothing personal. Well, it was with Kessler, of course. Still, he wanted no
more blood on his hands. Not even the Golden Boy's. As frustrating and intimate
as the situation was, he already knew how to keep the others from invading his
mind, and eventually he would have his freedom. And then he would hitch
somewhere warm and secluded and become nothing more then the ghost of a
presence in the web. No death required.
The rumble of his stomach pierced the silence, as well as his thoughts. His
concentration was broken and he realized he hadn't eaten since the grilled
cheese sandwich he'd had for lunch. Thinking it was just about the right time
for him to show up late for dinner, he rose from the alcove like a predator
stirring for the night's hunt and made his way downstairs.
X X X
Dinner had been surprisingly good. Roasted turkey, homemade stuffing, broccoli
with cheese, and biscuits. He couldn't remember the last time he had had such
good food, let alone homemade anything. He went back to his room wholly
satisfied, slamming his door in the others' faces when they badgered him to
come to the common room with them. He wasn't about to let them ruin the only
thing he had enjoyed since he'd gotten there.
Not the only thing, actually. There was the fiery, witch-eyed Kaitlyn,
made from the best stuff of his dreams. She was slightly a cut above the rest
that lived at the institute, but that's all she was. Besides, she had
eyes for Kessler, and he wasn't going to go meddling into the territory of
chocolates and flowers and good-natured boys. If that was what the girl wanted,
then the fool could have the guy.
Suddenly there was a knock at his door. From the place he'd chosen on the bed
when he'd come in he hesitated. He could pretend he was sleeping or was out on
the balcony, oblivious to whoever it was and whatever they wanted. But he found
himself getting up and unlocking the door, yanking it open.
Kaitlyn was on the other side.
"Can I come in?" she asked him.
He nodded and shut the door behind her, but inwardly he winced. The girl had
certainly picked the worst time. If she had any idea of what he'd just been
thinking he doubted she'd come in to his room so casually. He watched her with
narrowed eyes as she took a seat on his bed, glad she hadn't turned on the
bedroom light when she'd come in. The darkness hid the intensity of his gaze as
he looked her over, the longing in it. Kessler's type of girl or not, he had to
admit he was still attracted to her.
"I know this hasn't been easy for you," she told him, "and we've
been trying to leave you alone as much as we can. But we all have to think of something.
We can't stay like this, or here. Not after what we've found out."
He rolled her words over in his head, contemplating them. It was true they'd
been keeping their distance, both psychically and physically, but it
wasn't enough. Outside of his room he couldn't escape the others. They were in
the test lab, the study, anywhere he could go in the Institute. They never said
more to him then the occasional 'hello,' to which he usually grunted back, but
it didn't help the situation. Their presence in the back of his mind was
constant, an ever-buzzing reminder that wherever he went from now on he would
never be quite alone. Kaitlyn was right in that aspect. They couldn't stay
linked like this.
However, whatever Mr. Zetes was playing at with NASA and psychoactive weaponry
was not the direst problem. In fact it intrigued him. It sounded like something
that could make him disgustingly rich, if he didn't fuck it up for himself, and
so he didn't share the concerns of the others.
Kaitlyn shifted on the bed as she waited from him to say something. And when he
didn't she sighed. He watched her shoulders heave, her chest rise and fall with
the gesture, and had to look away.
"None of us wanted something like this to happen," she continued.
"Rob, Lewis, Anna, and me-- we're all going through as hard a time
adjusting. I know it's not the same for you but it would help if you cooperated
some."
He laughed. It was a harsh, clipped sound that made Kaitlyn flinch. /They/
were having a hard time adjusting? Yeah, they were right that it wasn't the
same for him. But they couldn't imagine how much harder it was. To be alone for
most of his life, fending himself, living only for himself, then have not one
but /four/ people piggybacking his thoughts. It was maddening.
"I /am/ cooperating," he said, his voice edged with something
sharp and ugly. "I've gone through every goddam book in this institute,
and the library, and even school. I've pulled apart issues of the psychological
journal to find a solution. And there is nothing any of us can do short
of kicking the bucket."
"That's not what I meant."
"Isn't it?"
"You know it isn't. "
He sunk down in the chair opposite the bed and leaned back, closing his eyes.
She knew him too well, this one. Sometimes it seemed like she knew him more
then he knew himself. Or maybe it was him just imagining it, wanting her to
somehow have a deeper connection with him.
"Alright then. Fine. What the hell do you want me to do?"
"Talk with us. Or at least listen to what we have to say."
"Why?"
"Because whatever you may think, you're not in this alone."
"And that's the problem, isn't it?" He sighed and opened his eyes
again, locking them on her even though she couldn't see them. "Fine, not
that it will help, but I'll try it. Don't expect much else though."
Why had he agreed? For her? That was ridiculous. He could gawk at her, and he
could dream of her, and he could want her with all his being, but outside of
his fantasies, she meant nothing to him. None of them did. So why agree to talk
with them? To get the witch off his back. Yeah, that's what he liked to think.
But somewhere beneath the mental barriers he'd erected to protect himself, he
knew there was more to it then that. He hadn't entirely stamped his feelings
out. Beneath their ashes he could feel new ones stirring, wanting release. But
he would hold them back. He would hold them back until he was far, far away
from this place.
Kaitlyn got up to leave, thanking and bidding him goodnight. "Tomorrow
after school, we'll all have a talk," she said. "If you're not there,
I'll come find you and drag you there." And she was gone.
He smiled as he rose and crept out on to the balcony. Kaitlyn had balls, that
was for sure. Something else he had to admire. It seemed his list grew longer
every moment more that he knew her. He kept denying what he felt for her to
himself, but his own thoughts betrayed him. Alright, so he /did/ like
her. As a friend at least. Any idea that went beyond that he would ignore. It
was dangerous to have such thoughts with the mind-web intact. Even with his
walls there was a chance of being accidentally discovered.
And that he could not deal with, with so much trouble stirring around him.
Outside the moon was low in the sky, a bloated pale mass that looked like it
could fall and crush him at any moment. The night air was warm and still,
almost completely opposite of the New York nights he'd grown up with. In the
distance he could hear the barks and growls of dogs, strays fighting over a
meal or loyal pure breeds guarding against an intruder.
And in his mind, Wolfe knew he was not much different then them.
