Note: Apologies for the late update. I spent last week making a lot of revisions to the story, and didn't want to post this chapter if I was only going to have to repost it later on after editing. I'll resume my fortnightly update schedule from here on out.
TEN: FLASHPOINT
JODI
"Jodi!"
Her mother jumps away from the car, half running in her haste to reach her.
"Yeah, I'm sorry," begins Jodi. "I know we said noon―"
"Jodi, where the hell have you been?" She seizes her arm. "I was this close to calling the cops―"
"I'm sorry." Her mother's anxiety is like a swarm of locusts, their buzzing wings merging into one loud droning scream. Jodi is used to it – her mother has worried about her all her life – but even if she can blank it out, she can't ignore the guilt. "I shouldn't have come, I know. Nikki ran off and I couldn't …"
Her mother sighs.
"God, Jodi," she says. "Half an hour?"
"I couldn't leave her!"
"No." She throws up a hand, annoyed at Jodi, at herself for being annoyed at Jodi, at everything about this situation. "No, you couldn't, I just … half an hour, Jodi? You know there's a killer out there. You know we worry about you."
Leave it, she wants to yell. I had to break into the cabin of a suspected murderer and comfort Tacoma because it looks like her uncle is involved and I had to jump, actually jump, and my friend attacked me with a dark-type move and everything hurts and I really need to just lie down for a little while.
"I know," she says, refusing to let it show. "I shouldn't have come out here. I'll stick to town in future."
The hand on her arm unclenches slightly. With what seems like an immense effort, her mother looks away, forces herself to take a moment and relax.
"I'm … sorry," she says, after a second. "I know you know all this, Jodi. Know you know your limits, too. And if Nikole ran off, that wasn't your fault."
The two of them look at her, shifting uneasily on her paws. Jodi wonders how much of this she understands. Enough to think she did something wrong, anyway. Poor thing. If there were another way around this, Jodi would take it in a heartbeat.
"I'll stay in town in future," she repeats. "I just thought it would do her good to come out here."
Her mother shakes her head.
"Don't overthink this," she says. "You're doing fine with her, chickadee. It's just gonna take a while, is all. Bringing her out here won't speed it up."
So now her mother is making up her lies for her, huh. God. She can't take this. She just bloody can't.
"I just want things to be okay," she says, voice cracking. "I just want …"
Her mother sighs, puts her arm around her.
"Oh, darling," she says. "They will be. I promise. But you can't rush it."
If she speaks now, it will come out. Jodi is always in control of herself, has to be to keep her empathy in check – but right now, in her mother's arms and after the morning she's had, her grip on the reins is slipping. So she stays silent, lets herself be held, and waits for her mother to say the words.
"Are you okay, Jodi? Really, I mean? What you said at Tacoma's funeral …"
Just like Jodi thought. She can't avoid the consequences of her outburst forever. Really, she shouldn't have said any of it – shouldn't have advertised her interest to the killer, shouldn't have made the funeral all awkward for Tacoma's family. But after hours of holding off the tsunami of other people's sentiment, her brain was pretty much fried. She barely even realised what she was saying.
It's probably going to come back to bite her. Walking through the woods earlier, she couldn't stop thinking about people sneaking up behind her with gloved hands, and she has a feeling that this fear is much more justified than it was before she said all that by the pyre. Nothing she can do about it, though.
"I'm just worried," her mother continues. "We all are. You're going through a lot, darling. With Tacoma, and your, um …"
She doesn't know the word. Has Jodi really not talked to her about this? No, she realises. She hasn't told her parents anything. Somewhere in her notebook, she's got her plan for how she'd help them through this all written out, but this thing with Tacoma has sort of taken over.
"Transition," she says, promising herself that she'll be a better daughter, that she'll have these conversations. "I'm sorry. I meant to talk to you about it, it's just … Tacoma."
"I know." Her mother's grip on her tightens. "Sorry. Came at a real bad time, huh."
"Yeah, I―" She has to cut herself off, aware that she was about to blurt out everything. What is with her today? Is it the dark attack? It's true that her head still feels a little strange, but she doesn't know enough about how that kind of thing works to be sure. "I know," she says instead. "I want it to be over."
This much is true. Her mother can hear it in her voice; she stops hugging her and cups Jodi's face in her hands, tilting it up towards her own.
"It'll happen," she tells her, looking dead into her eyes. "When Doc Ishihara moved here everyone hated her. Only a few weeks ago we had Japanese soldiers camped out in the Manor and their dragonite flying out the tower to raid over the border, you know? But she stayed, and people figured out she was human too, and now nobody cares where she came from. They get used to that, they'll get used to you too."
"It's not the same."
She could kick herself for saying it. The last thing she should be doing is arguing with someone trying to help her. But her mother seems to get it: she sighs, shakes her head.
"No, it ain't," she agrees. "But they'll get used to you anyway. And those who don't – well, fuck 'em."
Jodi starts. It's not the first time she's heard her mother swear, but it's the first time it hasn't been an accident. She looks up at her mother in surprise, and as their eyes meet they both smile, connected now by this petty transgression.
"Okay," says Jodi. "Fuck 'em."
It's probably the first time her mother has heard her swear, too. She's a little nervous about it, but her mother makes no move to tell her off, just kisses her on the forehead and lets her go.
"That's my girl," she says, putting her hand on her elbow and guiding her towards the car. "C'mon, let's get you home. You look exhausted."
"Yeah," says Jodi, although in fact being called her mother's girl has taken the edge off it. "Yeah, I kinda am."
She gets Lothian into the back and Nikole into her ball, and falls gladly into her seat. From the driver's side, her mother catches her eye, tries a smile: okay?
Okay, Jodi smiles back, though they both know it's at least partly fake, and turns to watch the woods march backwards past them as they drive south towards the town.
Jodi doesn't mean to leave Tacoma alone, really. Her plan is to go up and sit in her room so they can talk; she figures Tacoma probably wants to know what it was she said at the funeral that got her mother so worried, and even if for some reason she doesn't Jodi definitely needs to make sure she's okay. So she accepts her mother's offer of hot chocolate, says she'll be resting in her room, and drags herself up the stairs – except that's where it starts to go wrong, because instead of sitting down in her chair she ends up lying down on her bed with her eyes closed.
God. She should get up, should get Tacoma's rock out of her bag for Nikole and shut the door, but she just can't seem to move. Her mother was right, she's exhausted. And everything hurts, too.
"Oof," she sighs. "God. Chronic pain, mutant brain."
The old mantra makes her smile a little. When was the last time she even said that? Probably not long after she moved to Goldenrod, back when the combination of walking around and psionic exercise left her too tired to even get out of bed at the weekends. She used to say it to herself all the time, but these days she doesn't seem to need the release any more.
Lothian's concern rumbles through her bones. She lets her smile broaden and reaches out in the direction of the sound; a moment later, she feels soft fuzz beneath her fingertips.
"Just tired and achy," she reassures him. "I'll get over it." She shifts her head, sees Nikole pawing anxiously at her bag by the desk. "Help her out, would you?"
For a moment she's not sure if Lothian quite understands – he's good at interpreting vague commands as long as it's her who gives them, but even he has his limits – and then her nerves shiver with his affirmation and he crawls off to open the bag. She knows he can do it; the morning after she bought it she woke up to find he'd discovered how to work the catch so he could steal the bag of dried fruit she had in there.
She closes her eyes again. Some time must pass, although she doesn't notice it, because suddenly her mother is there with the hot chocolate, warning her that Lothian and Nikole have got into her bag. Jodi thanks her, tells her she knows, and listens for the closing of the door.
A long and quiet moment. That chocolate smells wonderful, but right now she's got about as much chance of reaching it as she has the moon.
Jodi?
She raises her head a little. Nikole has the rock in her claws, scratching at it in a vain attempt to get Tacoma out.
"Tacoma," she replies. It's a little more sarcastic than perhaps Tacoma deserves, though she is realistic enough to know that she couldn't have stopped herself saying it that way.
You … okay?
She heard everything, didn't she? Including all that stuff about what Jodi said at her funeral. She heard it all, and now she's worried that she might have been hurting her even before she hit her with a dark move. That she's inflicted herself on Jodi in a way that no person has the right to do to another human being.
It's not the empathy that tells her this. It's just the fact that on some level, the girl in the rock is the same one who sprinted back to the cabin for the radio all those years ago.
"I'll live," says Jodi. "How are you?"
Pause – and then the soft whoosh of Tacoma pushing her head out of the rock. Jodi has let her head fall back against the pillow by now, but she can sense Nikole's alien animal delight.
"Same," says Tacoma. "I mean, I won't live, I'm― but other than that, same."
"You sure?"
She hesitates for too long before answering.
"Yeah," she says. "Sure."
Jodi closes her eyes. Tacoma's mind swirls like dishwater circling the drain, grimy with tangled feeling.
"Tacoma," she says. "You don't have to do this."
"Yes, I do. You're hurt."
That is finally enough to get her to move. She takes a deep breath and forces herself to sit up, leaning back against the headboard with a grunt. Her head spins for a moment, but it's okay. She was going to have to get up to drink that chocolate eventually, anyway.
The room is much as she left it: Nikki by the desk, Tacoma in her claws. Lothian uncurling from his spot near the end of the bed, suddenly alert to the fact that his human is up and moving again.
"You're not exactly healthy yourself," says Jodi, picking up her mug. "I think there's room for both of us to be hurt."
Tacoma glares.
"I'm," she begins, and then seems to run out of steam. "I, uh, I guess you're probably right."
Nikki lifts her up without being asked, hugs her close. Tacoma pretends to resist, but nobody is fooled, and a moment later she leans into her muscular grip.
"I didn't mean for it to happen," she says, not meeting Jodi's eye. "Didn't mean for you to get dragged in, either. Just didn't grow up, I guess. Not like you."
Not like you. Tacoma has said a lot of things this week that hurt to hear, but this one might be the worst yet. What exactly is it about Jodi that makes people think she has it all together? Tacoma, Ella – even Carmine once told her that she was basically the team mum for the whole psychic class. Are you sure you're nineteen? 'Cause sometimes I feel like you're the same age as my aunt. And Jodi just shrugged and said I dunno.
And it's okay, really; even before she knew she was an empath, Jodi always liked looking after people. That much is fine. It's just that Tacoma doesn't seem to be able to praise Jodi without putting herself down in the same breath, and that – that is not okay at all.
Besides, she's wrong. Jodi has made all kinds of mistakes this week, like her outburst at the funeral. She's kind of hoping people write that one off as a stressed psychic kid buckling under the pressure of a dead friend and a whole town's attention, but … well, she screwed up pretty badly.
Not that she can tell Tacoma this. She has enough problems right now without worrying that Jodi is going to get zapped in the back of the head and tossed in the river.
"C'mon," she says instead, sipping her hot chocolate. "I'm not any better than you."
"Aren't you?"
Her voice is as cold as the Rageriver, freezing Jodi's mind where it touches. She winces and puts down the mug, resisting the urge to rub her temples.
"Okay," she says. "I'm sorry, Tacoma, I can't argue this right now. I just … can't."
Tacoma says nothing for a while. Her disc has slowed again, fog crawling in sluggish circles around her eyes.
"You're right," she says, in the end. "After all that … you're right."
She's not angry at Jodi, but she is angry. And sad. And many, many other things, jealous and hateful and self-loathing and dozens of other emotions mingling with one another in a complex symphony of human pain.
Mostly angry, though. Trust Tacoma to turn pretty much everything she feels into anger, one way or another.
"I'm sorry," repeats Jodi. "I need to rest."
"No, I get it." Tacoma is swirling faster now, disk spinning up like a motor revving into life. "Stupid of me. Kicked you in the brain and―" She stops, shakes her head. "Look, we can talk about it later," she says. "Got no right to put this all on you, anyway."
"Tacoma―"
"Would you just fucking leave it?" She billows for a moment, growing larger and darker and making the shadows deepen dramatically all across the room before she shrinks back into her usual self again. "Rest," she orders. "I'll wait."
Jodi sits there, paralysed with the sudden frenetic pounding of her heart, and watches as she collapses in on herself and disappears.
Nikki whines. Lothian climbs onto the bed and puts his head in Jodi's lap.
She swallows.
"Yeah," she says, curling her fingers into his mane. "Yeah, that …"
She isn't sure how this particular sentence ends.
She has a feeling that might be for the best.
Tacoma doesn't seem to be coming back any time soon. Jodi finishes her hot chocolate and waits, but all that happens is that she falls asleep and slips into a nightmare about the Silverblacks, turning her head at a distant rumble and watching the mountainside crashing down towards her. She sees Ash stiffen, Helen prick up her ears, and then as she tries desperately to find their balls and call them back to safety the great billowing wall of cloudy ice rears up over her head like the tail of some cosmic scorpion―
She starts awake with a gasp, shivering in a cold mountain wind that exists nowhere but in her head, and is immediately set upon by Lothian and a low hum in her nerves.
"I'm okay," she says, wrapping her arms around him. "Just a dream."
The timbre of the humming shifts, turns disbelieving. She sighs and lets her head slip down onto his, forehead to snout.
"All right," she says, feeling his vibrations in her skull. "Maybe not so okay."
She looks up to see Nikole curled up around the rock, staring at and occasionally poking it with one claw. No sign of Tacoma herself.
It's difficult to just sit there and let it happen: Tacoma is hurting so badly, and even if that doesn't excuse what she did in the woods Jodi knows it wasn't intentional and that she won't do it again. But it doesn't take an empath to tell that what Tacoma needs right now is space to calm down, and so Jodi has no choice but to leave it.
She thinks of Ella, the day before. That was so much easier to deal with; Ella doesn't get angry, just anxious and sad. What she really needed was a hug, and that much Jodi could handle.
"You know I'm always your sister, right?" she said, feeling Ella trembling against her shoulder. "Before I'm psychic, before I'm a student, before anything else. Always your sister."
"I know," whispered Ella. "I know, I just … I'm sorry."
"What for?" Jodi wanted to put out some soothing vibes, but even with Lothian's help she was far too tired, so in the end she just had to squeeze her a little tighter instead. "C'mon. Let me get dressed, then let's go downstairs and talk about this, yeah?"
So in the end she got up after all, and they talked, and honestly it wasn't even as bad as Jodi thought, just the weirdness of suddenly having a sister and being intimidated by her success. She hated that Ella apparently doesn't consider herself successful too – she must be one of the best artists in town at this point, and one day when Ella is older and readier Jodi will put her in touch with the gallery-owning bug enthusiasts she met at an illegal concert in an abandoned factory – but it is what it is. Jodi doesn't know how she could have avoided making her feel this way.
She really should take her into Ecruteak sometime, to talk and shop and catch a movie. Try and bridge the chasm that seems to have opened up between them. But after the morning she's had, Jodi suspects she might have to put it off for a few days.
One last glance at Tacoma's rock: still cold and silent. Jodi chews her lip for a moment, then slides awkwardly off the bed. Maybe Tacoma will come out to be with Nikki if she leaves. And even if she doesn't, this is probably a good time to follow up on yesterday's talk with Ella. She might not be up to a trip to Ecruteak tomorrow, but she can at least be a better sister than she was a brother.
Closing the door on Nikki – who displays no interest at all in the fact that she's abandoning her – she pauses on the landing to gather her thoughts. From within Ella's room comes the voice of Jackson Browne, singing about perfect lovers looking like perfect fools; from downstairs drifts something twangy that Jodi suspects is her mother's beloved Patsy Cline. One of the things she loves most about coming home is the way her family play their radios and record players all at once, tracks leaking out of individual rooms to mingle promiscuously in the hall. Some days when Jodi plays her own tapes there are so many competing songs in the air that Lothian goes cross-eyed with the vibrations and has to lie down for a bit.
She listens for a moment, watching Lothian's ears swivel in different directions to take in both songs at once, then knocks on Ella's door. After a moment, it opens, and Jodi is greeted by Ella and a strong smell of paint.
"Hey," she says.
"Hey," says Ella, taking a paintbrush out of her mouth to join a couple of others in her hand. "What's up?"
"Nothing," says Jodi, which might just be the biggest lie she's told all day. "Can I sit down a minute?"
"Oh. Sure."
She steps back to let her in. Lothian is about to jump into the gap, but Jodi puts her cane down firmly in front of him and tells him to be careful, after which he carefully picks his way across the carpet without going near the papered section of floor where Ella's paints are arranged around a canvas. Jodi follows, sits down heavily on Ella's bed, and puts her hand on his shoulder to keep him from causing trouble.
"So," says Ella. "I know you said nothing was up, but what's up?"
"Very funny." Jodi can do this, right? She is genuinely interested in what her sister gets up to. Shouldn't be too hard to prove it, even with Nick and the cabin and Tacoma rattling around in the back of her head like runaway pinballs. "What're you painting?"
"Huh?" Ella glances at the canvas: mostly white, scattered patches of colour over a few vague pencil lines. Nothing like the depth and detail of her finished pieces. "Oh. I thought I'd do a scyther? I was thinking about them the other day."
"Scyther," repeats Jodi. "Nice." She stares at the canvas, trying to see the image in the rough shapes, but gets nowhere. The marks Ella has made are designed to guide the artist's hand, not the viewer's. Like Jodi's psionic engagement notes, long sequences of numbers and occasional annotations that only she and her tutor can actually decipher. "Is that the wing?" she asks, of something that she has no reason at all to suspect is a wing.
"Uh, no. That's gonna be a girafarig."
"Okay, well, this was not in the initial description, so you can't blame me for not getting it." Ella laughs, because this is a thing she is meant to laugh at, but she sounds subdued. "Anyway, that's cool. Looking forward to seeing that one when it's done."
Pause. The song ends, and the tape whirrs on to the next track, Browne singing now about hiding his tears.
"Listen," says Jodi. "About yesterday―"
"Oh, that was nothing," says Ella. "I, uh, I was feeling weird 'cause of the funeral, you know, and …"
Jodi takes her hand and she trails off as if the touch of her has sapped the words from her throat.
"D'you wanna go to Ecruteak sometime this week?" she asks. "Just me and you. I bet you haven't bought any Christmas presents yet, so we can do that."
Ella stares at her, face as blank as new snow.
"Yeah," she admits. "I, um … kind of haven't even done your birthday present yet."
"Thought as much." Jodi smiles. "Wanna hear a secret?"
"What?"
"I haven't got your Christmas present yet, either."
And finally, finally, Ella smiles back.
"You know all that paint on my hand is wet, right?" she asks.
"Yeah," says Jodi, without letting go. "I realised that about half a second after I reached out, but I figured I had to commit if I wanted the gesture to work."
This time Ella's laugh is free and unforced. She pulls her hand away and gives Jodi an awkward hands-off hug, trying not to get paint in her hair.
"Dork," she says, like she did the day Jodi came home last week. Jodi hopes she means it, hopes she's remembering now that Jodi is still her sister, the same way she was her brother back before all of this happened.
"That's me," she replies, hugging back. "A tiny little dork with psychic powers and an unhealthy interest in acoustics."
"You're not that small."
"One time a bug flew up Lothian's nose and he sneezed so hard he knocked me over."
"Okay, you're kinda small."
"Yep," says Jodi, as they disengage. "That's me." She flicks her hair back into place with her clean hand. "I'm gonna talk to Mum and Dad this weekend," she says. "About my transition and stuff."
"Your transition," repeats Ella. She sounds like she's testing the word out in her mouth. It's probably the first time she's ever heard it in this context.
"Yeah. I know I haven't really said anything about it so far, and that's not really fair to any of you, so … what I guess I mean is, you're welcome to join in." What are the right words here? Jodi isn't sure, but there's no time to stop and think it over: she needs this sentiment out, right now. "I did this for me, without talking to any of you about it, and I kinda had to – but I don't want this to make things weird for you. Or, not any weirder than they need to be, anyway."
She waits. Ella picks anxiously at the paint on her fingers.
"Okay, sis," she says. "Um … thank you."
Still me, Jodi told her, last Thursday when she came home. Back then, she wasn't sure if Ella believed her.
She's feeling much more confident about that now.
Nothing lasts forever. Not even the fury of Tacoma Spearing. Late that night, when Jodi at last says goodnight and leaves her father watching the millionth rerun of Moonlight Over Cinnabar, she comes up to her room to find it lit by eerie violet flames that gutter and die as she flicks the light switch.
"Hey," she says, as Tacoma looks up.
"Hey," mutters Tacoma.
Silence. Nikole climbs to her feet, unnervingly swift and silent, and lifts Tacoma up with her. Jodi thinks she might be about to snatch her away again, but she doesn't, just holds her there for Jodi to speak to. Looks like she really is starting to warm up to her.
"I'm sorry," says Tacoma. "I'm an asshole."
"Sometimes," agrees Jodi. "You're kind of a nice asshole, though."
Tacoma shoots her a look that Jodi chooses to ignore.
"Look, you've apologised, and I've accepted your apology." Jodi sits down at her desk and turns to face her. "I'm not angry with you, okay?"
"Yeah, well, maybe you should be."
Jodi snorts.
"I definitely should be, Tacoma, but surprisingly enough I kinda like you."
Even Tacoma has to smile at that. It used to be her who told the jokes, who could wring a smile from Jodi under even the most trying circumstances, but so much else is different now that Jodi sees no reason why this shouldn't be, too.
"How are you feeling?" she asks.
"Not great," says Tacoma. "You?"
"Tired."
"Yeah," says Tacoma. "Makes sense."
She falls silent, although Jodi gets the impression she isn't finished speaking yet. A second passes, then another, and then at last Tacoma sighs and says:
"Okay. You want to ask me about it, don't you."
It's not a question.
"Maybe I can help," suggests Jodi. "Like – I want you to get better, Tacoma. Really."
"Yeah," she says, unconvinced. "Yeah, I … I know." Pause. "I know it's messed-up," she says. "I know that. I know that healthy people don't carve up their arms like goddamn Christmas turkeys. I just …"
Her voice catches. Nikki holds her closer, burying her snout in the top of her disc.
"I did something bad," says Tacoma, eyes fixed on the window beyond Jodi's shoulder. "I did something real bad and now I'm paying for it."
The words come out all in one breath, stumbling over one another in their rush to leave her mouth. It sounds unreal. Who even says something like that? Like something from a Kantan TV drama. And yet Tacoma believes what she's saying, with an intensity of feeling that tears through the room like a midwinter gale, blasting Jodi's mind against the back of her skull. She grips the arms of her chair tightly, trying to focus on weathering the storm, but after the blow to the head this morning her psionics feel strange and hard to control, and even with Lothian's help she barely manages to hang on.
"O-oh," she manages, as the wind at last begins to ebb. "I … sorry, that – that was strong."
No response. Jodi clears her throat, tries to marshal her thoughts. Priority: get Tacoma through this. She's finally opened up a little. This might be the only chance you get to help her put her head back in order.
"This is going to be a really hard question, Tacoma, and I get it if you can't say right now, but – what did you do?"
Tacoma shudders, her features sliding out of position for a moment as the tremor runs through her fog.
"I can't," she says, shrinking back against Nikki's chest. "I can't, Jodi, I – if you knew you'd― I can't."
"Okay." Jodi is about to come over but stops herself half-out of her chair; Nikole has the hug covered already, and honestly she's probably much better at it. Jodi is too bony to be comfortable for the other person. "Okay. Can you promise me that you'll tell me, though? Not now, obviously, not even any time soon if you don't want, but sometime?"
Five seconds. Jodi counts. She never knew how long that was until now.
"Yeah," says Tacoma, slowly. There is something in her mind that Jodi has never encountered before. Like a live animal being torn in two. "I don't know if I can make that promise."
Another two seconds, while Jodi tries to process this. What can she have done? What could Tacoma of all people have done that's so bad she couldn't tell even Jodi? If she had to guess, the most that Tacoma could possibly be guilty of would be punching someone who deserved it, maybe petty theft at a push. Nothing that matters, nothing that really hurts anybody. Nothing … like this.
This time she does get up. She plants her cane by Nikki's foot, leans down as far as she can, and puts a hand on the thread connecting Tacoma to her rock. It feels weird, but it's about as close as Tacoma's got to a shoulder.
"Could you try?" she asks, looking intently into Tacoma's eyes.
Tacoma looks back. She looks like she'd rather be looking literally anywhere else, but she looks back. How is this even the same person that punched Victor Orbeck? Jodi knew she wasn't doing so well – of course she knew that – but this? Once in Goldenrod, coming home a little too late at night after a concert, Jodi saw a man being beaten up on the corner of Fast Street, just standing there and taking it as two others went to work on his face and ribs. She'd forgotten about it until now, but looking into Tacoma's eyes, all Jodi can think of is the awful resignation emanating from the man's head.
"Okay," mutters Tacoma. "Okay, I … I promise I'll try."
It's a start. Jodi has no illusions about this; Tacoma won't be herself again for a long time yet, and she's probably going to need the help of someone more qualified than an empath one term into her second year at university to get there at all. But it is a start, and that's all either of them can hope for right now.
"Thank you," she says. "I know it's a lot to ask."
"You always know," says Tacoma bitterly. "D'you know how much I hate that?"
"Just about as much as you love it," Jodi tells her, and is rewarded with the smallest of smiles. "All right, I have to get up or I'm gonna need Lothian to rescue me. But – seriously, Tacoma. Thanks."
A long, wordless look. Jodi nods and settles back into her chair.
"Okay," she says. "Um … I'm sorry, but I'm gonna ask you another difficult question now."
Tacoma grimaces.
"Gonna be pretty hard to top that last one," she says, with just a touch of the usual fire. "Go on then, let's have it."
"What d'you want to do about Nick?"
The grimace deepens.
"Well, I can't say you didn't warn me," she grumbles. "Look, Jodi, I dunno. I mean, you're right. Innocent till proven guilty and – and all that."
"Sure." It's painfully obvious that Tacoma doesn't believe this, but Jodi figures she's pushed her enough for now. "So …?"
"So I dunno. Thought you could talk to him, maybe, but if he did … do it, you know, then that might be dangerous."
"Might be," agrees Jodi. "I'll do it, though. If that's what needs to be done."
She doesn't quite realise what she's saying until the words are out, and then it comes as a surprise: she really would do it, wouldn't she? And more. If it had to be done. If Tacoma needed her to do it.
Jodi remembers telling Annie that she loved Tacoma still. She meant it then, of course, but only now does she realise how much.
"I dunno," says Tacoma. "I just … don't know." She shakes her head. "Don't know anything, any more. Last week, I hated everything, but I thought I understood it. Now the only thing I understand is that I don't understand anything." A momentary hesitation. Jodi feels the tension gathering, knows that something difficult is coming. "You know, we could just … leave it."
"No, we can't," replies Jodi, unsurprised. "Or I can't, anyway. I know what you mean, Tacoma – God, I know – but I can't."
"Is it really worth―?"
"Are you worth this, you mean. And yes. You are."
Tacoma's disc slumps at an angle, its edge splashing on Nikki's forearms.
"I wish," she begins, then changes her mind. "'M sorry. Never meant for any of this to happen."
"It's okay," says Jodi. "I don't think anyone ever does."
"No," says Tacoma, staring into the carpet. "I guess they don't."
In the small hours of the morning, Jodi wakes from one of her ominous ESP dreams to see Tacoma out of her rock, face scrunched up in concentration. Even half-awake, some instinct tells her to lie still and pretend to sleep, and as she lies there she sees out of the corner of her eye the faint misty outline of a hand form at Tacoma's side for just one brief second before it vanishes again and Tacoma lets out a thin, choked cry.
Something about this failure is inviolably private. Jodi closes her eyes again, and tries to fall asleep to the sound of Tacoma's frustrated tears.
Daylight helps. It always does. When Jodi opens her eyes to the watery December sun, she feels all those midnight anxieties start to ease. Tacoma doesn't know what to do, would probably put off the decision forever – well, that just means it's up to Jodi now. Okay, so there's an argument for not confronting a possible murderer, but honestly, and with all due respect to the parties involved – screw it. Tacoma really, really needs help. And so they have to get her home, and so they have to end this, and so Jodi is going to have herself a talk with Mr Phoenix Wroth.
It should be okay. Her head feels clearer today; she should be able to gauge how dangerous the situation is, and she isn't planning on asking him outright about the murder, anyway. The way she pitches the idea to Tacoma is that she'll just ask him about the cabin and see where that gets her.
"I dunno," says Tacoma, for whom the morning does not seem to have brought the same sense of release. "S'pose I trust you to make the right choice."
It's not a blessing, but it's not a refusal, either. And while Tacoma's disengagement is something to be worried about, the only way Jodi can think of to help right now is to figure out what's really going on with Nick.
Besides, Jodi is so sick and tired of not knowing. Of walking around town scared that everyone she meets might be a wolf in sheep's clothing. It's time to change that and get some bloody certainty – both for herself and for Tacoma. And what's Nick going to do, kill her? Good luck with that. Literally everyone in town is watching her, constantly. Even if he does get her alone, she has Lothian and Nikole, and Tacoma seems to be getting the hang of her spiritomb powers. Nobody's catching her out the way they did Tacoma.
It's not the best argument she's ever made in her life. But sometimes a girl is just plain tired.
"Okay," she says. "Then my choice is, let's go do this. Do you want to come?"
Everything about Tacoma's mind says no.
"Yeah," she answers. "Guess I will."
Jodi is about to raise her eyebrows, but doesn't; that feels like it would be condescending.
"You're doing this to make yourself feel bad, aren't you?" she asks.
"… so?"
"Look," says Jodi, changing tack. "I can't take Nikki with me if I go there, right? So it only makes sense for you to stay here with her. She'll just cause trouble on her own."
A moment passes. Lothian squeaks dismally, anxious about the tension; downstairs, Ella calls out indistinctly, gets some kind of answer from her mother.
"Yeah," says Tacoma. "You're probably right."
Jodi breathes out. She wasn't even aware she was holding her breath, but apparently she was.
"Okay," she says. "Cool. I'm … gonna go, then."
"Now?" asks Tacoma.
"No time like the present," she replies. "We need to get this done, Tacoma. Soon."
And Tacoma doesn't have an answer to that.
Ten minutes later, Jodi has offered her excuses to her parents and is making her way across town towards the Spearing house. Her head might feel better today, but the rest of her body still hasn't forgiven her for jumping to catch Tacoma as she fell into the river, and she has to take it slow and steady, her every movement adding another ache to the list. But she knew this was coming, factored it into her travel time and everything, and though it takes her close to forty-five minutes to even make it to the other side of Three Pines she refuses to get impatient with herself. There are plenty of other people who'll do that for her without her joining in.
Coming out of the path between the trees and the banks of snow smothering the playground, she sees Ella and a few other girls her age heading towards the town centre, laughing at something. Jodi is about to pull back and stay out of her way – the last thing she wants to do is embarrass her sister in front of her friends – but she's too slow, and before she can duck back behind the trees the whole group sees her.
The laughter stops. Curious minds descend upon her like crows on roadkill.
Jodi tries to smile and raises a hand in a weak kind of wave; Ella waves back without quite meeting her eye. She's too far away for Jodi to get a read on her mind, but she doesn't have to. Her shame is etched into her face as if with a pen of acid.
The girls move on, eyes lingering; Ella keeps her head down and hurries on with them. Jodi watches them go, and as Lothian swoops down to join her she puts her hand out to rest on his fuzzy head.
It hurts. There, she admitted it. It hurts to have her sister treat her like this. She forgives her, of course – Ella is thirteen and therefore completely at the mercy of her peers' judgement – but it hurts all the same. Especially after the conversations they've had over the last couple of days.
She's hanging out with that girl from the library, too – the one who was working with Crystal Aston. Hard to miss her, really; she was staring just now the same way she was the last time they met.
"She's probably a really nice person," Jodi tells herself. But she still waits a couple of minutes to let the girls get ahead before she starts walking again.
A long quarter of an hour later, she's once again turning the corner onto Long Avenue, where she takes a moment to brush the snow off the Fays' garden wall and rest there. The town centre is busy today; as well as Ella's friends, she had to make it past what felt like half the town. (Outside the store: Leanne Wright, a hard look, a stage whisper to Carrie Savage – look at him!) Add the long walk on top of that, and she's worn out before she's even knocked on the door.
Lothian climbs up beside her, sweeping half the wall clean in a single movement. In these moments he looks more dragon than bat, tail dangling and foreclaws gripping the masonry between his legs. For once in his life, he has nothing to say, no humming or squeaking, and nor does Jodi; she simply sits there with him, listening to his breath and watching Ray Burton trying to back his car out of his half-shovelled driveway further down the street.
There are eyes behind the darkened glass of the windows. Hell, even Nick's probably seen her by now. She's probably just making this harder by hanging around beforehand.
She hangs around some more, trying to dull the ache in her legs, and then at last she gets up and knocks on the door.
"Jodi," says Jessica, looking nervous. "You're back."
Even prepared for it, Jodi struggles with the sudden rush of grief; it's not as bad as Wednesday, or even on Tuesday, but it's still there. But she's done this twice before now, and after the first shock of it, she manages to push it to the back of her mind.
"Yep," she says. "I am."
"Is there a problem with Nikole?"
"Nope." Jodi takes a deep breath. It's fine. She can handle this, she can. "I … actually need to speak with Nick."
"Oh." Jessica scowls slightly, her confusion touching Jodi's mind in light, tingly waves. "Is something wrong?"
"I hope not." Jodi smiles her best smile, pushing at Jessica's suspicion with a beam of positivity. "Just have a couple of questions."
"Okay." She looks at her for moment longer, perhaps aware of Jodi's psionics and perhaps not, and then stands aside. "Well, uh, come on in."
"Thanks."
The door closes on the street behind them, and the warmth at last begins to seep back into Jodi's bones after the long walk through the snow. Jodi takes off her hat and gloves, stuffs them in her pockets and loosens her scarf.
"You want some coffee?" asks Jessica, but Jodi shakes her head.
"No, I'm not staying."
"Right. I'll … go and get him."
"Thanks."
With one last curious glance at her, Jessica goes into the living-room. Jodi sighs and glances at Lothian.
"Well, that wasn't as awkward as I thought," she says, to cover her anxiety. Lothian squeaks and bumps his head against her hand. "Yeah," she says, in response to the question buzzing in her bones. "Pretty much."
It's awkward, being back here. She can almost see the wake superimposed on it all: Con and Mayor Winshaw sweeping around in a municipal kind of way; Dr Ishihara's froslass calmly filling a plate for her in the kitchen. It's bad.
The door opens and Nick comes out. He looks a little better now, although it is only a little. Had a shave and a shower at some point, anyway. His magneton follows, making a series of strange pinging sounds that make Lothian whine and fold his ears flat along his skull.
"Hello," says Nick, looking at Jodi the way you might look at a tall man with a knife who's just asked for your purse. "I heard you, um, wanted to speak to me?"
Okay. Moment of truth. Don't let him prepare: just go for it.
"When did you get back from Alola?" asks Jodi, and right away she knows. It takes a lot of training to hide your mind from a psychic, and a lot of willpower, too. Nick doesn't seem to have either right now; his panic is an open book. To his credit, though, he doesn't break: he just stands there, nods slowly as if he's considering the question.
"That's a strange thing to ask me," he says. His voice gives nothing away. He's good; this might actually work, on anyone except Jodi.
"Yeah, well, I went for a walk in the woods," she tells him. "Do you own that cabin or do you rent it?"
It's a little more aggressive than she meant to be. Nick stares at her for a long time, his mind seething like an unattended stewpot, and then he gestures at the kitchen.
"I don't think we should have this conversation in the hall," he says.
Jodi nods, waits for him to move first, and then follows him into the kitchen. It's longer and thinner than their one at home, without room for a table, but there's a little conservatory at the back that Lucas built years ago when Jodi and Tacoma were kids, and in there are a table and chairs, along with a pile of junk that doesn't fit anywhere else. Nick shifts an old dartboard off one chair and takes a seat without offering one to Jodi; she closes the door behind her and sits down across from him, Lothian crouched at her side.
It's cold in here. Jodi's glad of her coat. But Nick doesn't seem to notice.
"Okay," he says, and now he does seem nervous, now he looks at her like he's afraid of what her mutant brain will see. "Okay, I was afraid of this."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah." He hesitates, lips twitching slightly as if unable to select the right word to begin with, and then his words all come out at once: "I didn't do it. I can't tell you what I was doing, but I didn't do it."
Jodi can feel his guilt mirrored in her mind, a deep, wrenching shame that tears nauseatingly at her stomach. My fault, she thinks, and then shoves the thought away: no, not hers. This is Nick's problem.
"How am I supposed to believe you?" she asks, fighting the sickness his mind is breeding in her belly. "You didn't tell the truth about going to Alola."
Nick's magneton drifts closer to his head, its three eyes locked on Jodi even as the cores spin faster and faster around one another. It seems to have collected some of the junk piled up against the wall; there's an old screwdriver stuck to one core, a bag of nails and a tailless dart on another.
"You're psychic, aren't you?" he says. "So … you know, right?"
Mostly, yes. But in this house, where the air is so thick with grief it's hard to breathe? Sitting across from this man, whose guilt is burning a hole in her guts? That's dicey. Jodi has never really practised using her psionics in difficult situations; it's hard to replicate stuff like this in the psy labs at uni. With this much interference, all she can be sure of is that Nick feels very, very strongly about this.
"I'm trying," she tells him. "But there's a lot of grief in this place. Hard to be sure."
"You have to believe me, though," he says, leaning forward on the table. "You have to―"
"I don't have to do anything." Focus, Jodi tells herself. It's not hard. (It is hard.) It's not hard. You just need to concentrate, get him on your side. "Look, Nick, I'm not accusing you. You wouldn't kill your niece, right?"
"No," he answers, without even a second's hesitation. "No, I wouldn't."
"Then what's up with the cabin in the woods?"
He hesitates. Lothian pricks up his ears, detecting something that Jodi can't quite reach beneath the guilt.
"You got this from Nikole, didn't you?" he asks. "Goddamn. Should've guessed. Everyone was saying Con got you to help out. And then you came here offering to take her off our hands …"
"I meant that sincerely. But, um, yeah. That didn't hurt."
Nick sighs, unclenches his fists with the deliberate steadiness of a man trying to calm himself down.
"You know you shouldn't―"
"No," Jodi interrupts. "I shouldn't. But here I am."
This time the silence is too long for hesitation; this is an appraisal, a judgement. Nick studies her face for several seconds, then meets her eye and immediately has to look away again, unable to hold it.
"Jesus," he says, in the end. "I see why she liked you." Jodi waits for more, and after a moment he tells her: "Look, uh, Jodi. I didn't do it. I mean that. But … it is my fault."
Jodi folds her arms, leans back in her chair. It was a hell of a gamble she just took, but it looks like they're finally starting to get somewhere.
"All right," she says. "So why don't you tell me all about it."