Emotionless Lighters

Chapter Six: Shattered Mask

Wyatt

I don't care what my mom says that boy is. He doesn't have any right to be in my room without my permission and I don't care if he's special in any way. If he let the elders push him around, that's his fault, not ours. He should've run away or something.

Besides, he's creepy. Really creepy.

For one thing, it's like he's a robot. His voice never changes and he never seems to be feeling any emotion. When he and Phoebe passed me in the hall on the way down from the attic, I gave him a little triumphant smirk to see what his reaction would be, but his face remained the same.

For another thing, he has my power. Force fields are supposed to be the special thing that only I can manage. Dad says that it's one of the powers that makes me more powerful than any other witches and that's why we need to train and exercise it Up There. But then that boy all of a sudden is able to manage a force field twice the size of mine and deflect one of my largest energy balls with ease after never practicing it a single day in his life. I find this quite annoying.

Not that I view him as a threat. Nobody's able to threaten me.

Now we're all sitting at the dinner table, but I don't know where my dad is. Phoebe's sitting to my left, spinning spaghetti idly on her fork. My mom's on the right, chewing only to keep herself busy and occasionally stealing doubtful glances in my direction. Chris, the boy, is sitting in front of me, staring at his food but not making any attempt to eat it.

"Where's dad?" I ask.

Mom swallows. "I don't know," she says curtly. "This is just like him, leaving us with all of the dirty work."

Phoebe flinches. "Dirty work? Piper, you can't possibly mean that, can you?" she asks.

"Yes, of course I mean that. I mean, Chris is his responsibility, not ours. Leo's supposed to protect him from demons, not us. But does Leo ever think about us? No. It's just like before, Phoebe—he dumps everything on us and walks away."

I don't say anything because I figure it's better not to argue about something I don't understand. But I can tell that the conversation isn't smoothing over so well with that boy, the lighter or whatever you call it. His head seems to droop a bit further than it was before, and I can barely notice the emotional shift, but it's there. Small, but definitely there.

With my head down over my plate so no one can see me, I smile. Somehow I just love it when other people are suffering and don't have control. It makes me feel powerful. Is that really such a bad thing?

"Piper…" Phoebe trails off, as if she doesn't have anything to say.

Mom looks up from her plate. "What? Do you just expect me to forgive and forget, like nothing ever happened? He's done it before and he's only going to do it again and again and again. You think I want some kid with all this power on my hands? I have my own son to worry about, thank you very much."

Chris' chair slides out from the table and he abruptly leaves the room, headed upstairs. His food sits untouched where he left it and Mom and Phoebe stare after him.

"Where are you going?" Phoebe calls after him.

The boy doesn't answer.

I suddenly feel a bit angry at my mother's words. "My own son to worry about"? I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself. Does she not realize the power I possess? That's why I like hanging out with Dad. He treats me like the special being I am, not like some normal, defenseless child. And she's talking as if this boy is more powerful than I am. Nobody can be better.

"I hope you're happy," Phoebe snaps, rising to follow him up the stairs.

"What'd I do?" asks Mom. "He doesn't care what I say about him. That kid doesn't feel anything. He's brainwashed."

Phoebe's glare could have penetrated the wall, had it not been stuck to her face. "Everybody feels." She turns her back on us sharply and heads up the stairs.

Mom rolls her eyes. "I just can't do this anymore," she sighs, pulling out her chair. "Help yourself to dessert, Wyatt. I'm going to bed early."

Chris

I don't know what made me leave the table and come up here. This place makes me feel safe, their attic. Maybe I just needed to leave before that woman said more. Words have never quite affected me that way before.

All my life, every time the elders beat us, or whenever we were alone in the dark, I could never help but feel a little bit of hope. Like I had something special of my own to hold on to, no matter what happened. I held onto the possibility of someone, somewhere, waiting for me.

Now I know that I was foolish. For one thing, if the elders had known of these nonsense thoughts, I would be punished. And now I knew the truth. Nobody's waiting for me. I am merely a burden.

"Chris," Phoebe says quietly, sitting down next to me. I knew she was coming. It's easy to sense her. "She was upset with Leo. You understand that, right? She wasn't trying to hurt you."

"I am not hurt," I say hesitantly. My voice is shaking and I am immediately alarmed by what little control I have over this emotion. I feel abandoned now, even though I have been my entire life. Why now? After all these years of being in control, what makes it any different?

"Yes, you are. We all are. It's a little difficult for Piper and Leo—your parents—right now. They haven't seen much of each other since you disappeared. They're a little angry." She sighs. "Piper had no right to say those things, but she's just trying to heal. If she knew what we found out today, I know she wouldn't say that, Chris."

"She should not know. I should return to where I belong. I will be punished more if I stay here."

"You won't be punished, honey. They're not going to take you away."

But I know in my heart, as comforting as the words may sound to me and herself, that nothing is for sure. They could easily orb down here and take me with them is less than a moment's time. I'm never safe.

I stare at my lap, trying to regain control. A lot of strange emotions are flowing through me now. One especially that I've never felt even a whisper of before: jealousy. These people never had to follow orders. That boy downstairs, my brother—he was allowed a normal life with a normal family. Why did I have to be chosen to go Up There and train? What made me any different? I bite my lip, realizing that she must be able to sense this display of emotion.

"No, you have every right," she tells me. "Whoa. That's the first time I've been able to read you…"

"This earth is breaking the mask."

"Mask? What mask?"

I stifle back a shudder. "The mask. We cannot show emotions. I suppose we were all witches Up There…because sometimes we would inadvertently read one another's minds." It's all making sense to me now. This is how I knew whenever an elder was approaching: someone nearby would silently warn me. And vice-versa; I would warn others. We had our own little language, so to speak, through the hidden color of our eyes. "That is what we called our state. A mask."

"You don't have to wear it," Phoebe reasons with me. "It was never meant to be there in the first place. You're allowed to feel whatever you want to feel down here. It's safe."

I hide my eyes in shadow, knowing that they must be sparking with the life I am not allowed to show. "But it is not safe for them yet. They are still there."

"Who?"

"The other children. The elders still have them." For a moment all of my thoughts cloud over as I try to open my mind to them for the first time. I see it all so clearly: the embassy in ruins, thirteen other children sitting in a circle with their eyes closed in concentration. They are meditating. If they move or make a single sound, they will be whipped.

There's a hole in the circle where I should be—and another hole where the little boy once sat as well. I swallow back my guilt; I should be there, suffering with them. I should never have seen this place. Now I'll always know, even after my return, the pleasures of earth and freedom.

I remember the boy that disappeared after talking of earth. He had known a life down here, how wonderful it could be. Now I know why he opposed them. He wasn't foolish, he was lonesome.

Another emotion that is suddenly new to me.

You are the one that is missing, says the voice of a girl. I look around the circle and my eyes fall on one of my fellow lighters, Annabelle, a girl perhaps of twelve years of age with straight, brown hair and eyes as distant and gray as my own. Her eyes are still closed in meditation. She can sense me reaching out to her and is responding to my message.

The elders are searching for you, she warns. This is the first time I've heard her true voice: desperate and frightened. There are no masks for our thoughts. You must find a safe place. Hide. Save us, Chris. I've watched you since the day you arrived here seven years ago. Only you can do it, Chris. Help us return to earth…I know you can find a way.

Phoebe

Suddenly Chris falls limp, sagging into the chair. His eyes cloud over and I realize he's in a premonition. No, something different. He's communicating…with the other lighters, I think to myself, shuddering. That's a lot of power to possess, the ability to reach that far in the universe.

"Chris? Chris, can you hear me?" I say quietly. He's not ready to return yet.

"Annabelle…wait," he's pleading, his voice strained and barely a whisper. His eyes are closed now, concentrating. "What has happened? Danny is not with you." He pauses, as if listening to a response. Suddenly he tenses in the chair, frigid with fear. "I will try, Annabelle. Take care of the others."

He blinks, his eyes the bright color of green from before. Only this time they don't change back into his mask—tears spill down freely down his cheeks and he shoots up out of the chair.

"Chris? Chris, what's wrong? What happened?" I demand. "Chris…"

He doesn't face me when he says in a muffled voice, "It killed him. The caved in walls killed Danny." Then he falls to his knees and, for probably the first time in his life, he breaks into anguished sobs.

I stare, shocked into silence by his small cries. "He was my responsibility. You do not understand; when a smaller lighter was brought into the group, an older one would warn them, show them how to live without being punished. Annabelle taught me. I taught Danny. It killed him! The crash killed him! It is my fault for not returning," he sobs.

Down on the floor he looks so small and vulnerable, his tiny body wracking with defeat and pain. It's as if somebody took all the protection and reassurance he had left in the world and shattered it at his feet. He lost what little family he'd ever known just now, and it left me utterly speechless.

I reach down to comfort him, placing a hand on his shoulder, but he jerks away. "No," he whispers, "stop. Please. I cannot be here any longer."

To my shock, blue orbs envelope him, carrying him off far beyond my reach. For a moment I remain rooted to the spot, flabbergasted, before finally uttering a small cry. "Piper!" I scream. "Piper, get up here!"

Piper

"What? What's going on?" I demand, frantically bounding up the stairs. I fling the door open to see Phoebe's expression, pale and shocked. "What's wrong?"

"He's gone!" she cries. "Chris—oh, Piper, it's horrible—he orbed out after communicating with—"

"Communicating? Phoebe, slow down! What are you talking about?" I ask desperately.

There are tears in her eyes, running down her cheeks. "Piper, he has the power of empathy and telepathy. His powers managed to reach out to one of the other lighters Up There—Annabelle, I think her name was," she explains, hiccupping. "He sort of spaced out and started talking to her. He didn't look like he ever remembered I was in the room, and—and he asked where Danny was. He could see them, and one of the lighters was missing—the one he took care of. The crash killed his little friend."

"The crash?"

"The crash! When the lighters' embassy fell, Piper! It killed one of the lighters, the one that Chris looked after. It was awful—the poor little thing just broke down and sobbed, and then…and then…"

Realization dawns on me and I search around the room. "Where's Chris?" I whisper, eyes growing wide.

"That's what I'm trying to tell you! He's gone! He orbed out, Piper!"

"That's impossible," I insist. "Chris can't orb. He's not a half-whitelighter, he's a witch."

"My god, Piper. I can't believe you haven't realized it on your own. How can you be so slow? How can you be so ignorant?" she cries out. "How can you look at him and not be able to recognize your own son?"

Her question seems to vibrate off the walls. I stare into her eyes incredulously, the past events of the last twelve hours rushing through my head. Chris, falling from the sky like a wounded angel. Staring into the green eyes of my ex-husband in a frightened child for mere moments of pain after the casting the spell. Coaxing him to reveal everything…trying to understand the purpose of the lighters…

I gulp. "That can't be true," I whisper, voice barely audible. "That can't be true. That boy cannot be my son. My son is dead!"

"No, he isn't! And you just made some pretty disgusting remarks downstairs that didn't exactly make matters any better!"

"You're a liar!" I accuse.

"Don't you dare call me a liar," she fumes angrily. "I saw it with my own eyes. I had a premonition. He's your son, Piper. And now he's gone. It's up to you to help find him."

TBC!