LODESTONE pt 12
The eyes were watching him. He stood in the center of the room, turning slowly, seeing the eyes follow him, gliding along the walls, keeping him in his sights. He knew what it was. It knew what he was. Neither was a good thing.
He couldn’t go out of the room, it hovered over the door. He couldn’t get to the window, it blocked his way. He was trapped. And it knew him, it knew he wanted to destroy it, and it wasn’t going to let that happen. The eyes turned down, angry, and glared with the menace of a thousand demons of hell.
Misha woke with a scream. The eyes continued to stare.
***************************
Jensen bolted upright in his bed, one hand flying to his chest, feeling his heart thump erratically, trying to burst its way out. The other hand was gripping the fitted sheet on the bed, popping the elastic corner from the mattress. Then his feet was on the floor and he was ready to run. All this happened before he realized the scream that had woken him, wasn’t his.
A figure was standing in his doorway.
He scrambled back, nearly falling to the floor. “Jesus!”
“God!” Misha grabbed the doorframe with both hands, then let himself sag against it, his eyes closing. In the faint light, he looked as scared as Jensen felt.
Jensen was still trying to breathe. “What the hell are you doing?”
“Having a fucking heart-attack!” Misha leaned back against the frame, eyes closing. He breathed heavily.
“Same here, dude.” The scream echoed in Jensen’s head, and thoughts of Jared crept in around it. His eyes snapped back to the door to see Jared’s hulking form now standing behind Misha, giving both himself and Misha another start. He groaned and dropped his head to his hand as Misha backed into the room, looking like he was about to fall to his knees. He’d never seen the other man so unnerved.
“What’s going on?” Gramma’s crackling voice asked, barely floating up the stairs. Selma could be heard hushing her, and the stairs creaked heavily as she came up.
Misha paced in a small circle, running his hand through his hair. He said nothing until Selma was in the doorway. “What the devil’s going on up here?” she asked in concern.
Jensen remained on his bed, but watched Misha. He knew suddenly where the scream had come from. He resisted the urge to pull the man down, to sit beside him.
Misha’s attempt to calm himself was apparent in his gestures. “God, I don’t know,” he answered. “It seems stupid now.”
“Bad dream?” Jensen asked.
Misha nodded. “I thought so. Then I realized I was awake.” He paused. “That - thing - it was in my room. It was looking down at me.” He rubbed his forehead and started to pace again. His hand carved a nervous circle as he spoke more rapidly. “I was dreaming, then I woke, and I saw it. And then it vanished. But it was right there in front of me. Over me. I’ve never felt anything so. . .vile.” He turned to Selma. “It knows what we’re here to do. It doesn’t like it, at all. And it’s being very protective.” He shot a look at Jensen. “We’re fools if we think this thing is going to leave easily. It won’t. Not unless there’s bigger game around.”
Bigger game? “You mean this thing could latch onto someone else?” Jensen asked.
“I don’t know. Possibly.”
Jared’s lips were pressed tight in concern. Jensen tried to take it all in. “Did it threaten you?”
Misha didn’t respond.
Jensen flung off his sheet and stood, crossing the room to him. “Answer me,” he demanded in a low voice. “It did, didn’t?” No answer was required. Jensen knew. They all knew.
“There’s something else,” Misha continued, his voice pitched low. “It knows we want to destroy it. Don’t think it won’t try to take you, and the rest of us, down with it.” He let the words linger, and his eyes rose to meet Jensen’s pointedly.
“Well,” Selma said softly. “ Didn’t think it would happen this fast, but I guess we’d better get this show on the road.”
“Selma? What’s up there? You know I can’t do these stairs.” The voice rose again, slightly closer, old and urgent.
Take the rest of us, Misha had said. Jensen was already targeted. Jared. Misha. What of Selma? Or. . . “Is Gramma in danger here?” Jensen asked, walking to Selma. “Did we bring this on her? Can it hurt her?”
“I don’t know. But she’s damn well gonna break her neck, trying those stairs.” Selma’s answer was terse, and she returned to ease Gramma’s fears, leaving the three men standing in the center of the room.
Jensen could see Misha was still shaken. Jared walked to them, closing the circle. “You okay?” he asked Misha.
Misha nodded, faintly, and glanced at Jared. “You still feeling sick?”
“Nah, I’m good. Just tired,” Jared admitted. But Jensen knew him well enough to see the worry there. And he was getting to where he could recognize it in Misha as well, and there the fear ran deep. It seemed the man knew more than he was letting on.
The room was lighter, growing from mostly darkness into a blue dawn. Jensen noticed the change and broke from the group to walk to his window. The budding light dimmed the stars that remained overhead. Downstairs, he could hear Selma and Gramma talking, and hear cabinet doors clicking open and slamming closed. Metal hit metal, probably a pan being set on the ancient stove top. Such a normal, homely sound.
The spell was broken. Suddenly they were just three men standing in a bedroom. He glanced down at his boxers. His brows raised, and he tugged at his shirt. “I’m gonna test the shower,” he said.
“I’ve gotta get dressed,” Misha chimed in, almost immediately.
“Yeah, I’ll go see if Gramma needs any help,” Jared offered quickly.
Jensen nodded and followed the men out. He noticed Misha hesitated for a moment before walking into his room.
He couldn’t blame him.
***************************
The day was sultry. Jared was out back, helping Selma hand wash the old stained curtains that used to hang in the front windows. They were made of old cloth, too heavy for Gramma to wash and handle. He had stripped down to his jeans, which were soaked. His burn was healed, but he worked in the shade.
Gramma had left them to the task and went to visit a friend. Misha spent a lot of time on the front porch, tea on the small iron table beside him, book in hand. He wore a pair of dark shorts and a short-sleeved shirt. His sandals were beside his chair. His feet were propped on the railing. He looked at ease, like he belonged there.
But Jensen was about to jump out of his skin. “How do you do that?” he asked from the door.
Misha looked up. “Do what?”
“Just sit there. Like nothing’s going on.”
Misha squinted out into the small yard. “Nothing is.” He smiled. “Actually, that’s a lie. There’s always something going on.”
“And that’s the problem.” Jensen sighed heavily and sat in the chair that was tucked into the corner of the porch. He found out why when it tilted alarmingly. Misha’s brows raised, and he gestured to the seat beside him.
“Right.” Jensen cleared his throat and sat. “Whatcha reading?”
Misha turned the cover of a crime novel to him.
“Right,” he said again, studying his hands.
He wished he could explain the tension in the air. Misha didn’t seem to feel it, but to Jensen it was whip-sharp. He straightened and rubbed his palms on his jeans. “Listen. We gotta talk.” He couldn’t take it anymore.
Misha glanced at him and slowly dog-eared the page he was reading. “What about?”
What about? How about the tension that reminded him of kids on a first date. That he wasn’t comfortable with the Supernatural Twosome becoming a threesome. Or how about that Misha intimidated the crap out of him and he couldn’t figure the guy out. “I have no idea.” And that admission made him grin sheepishly.
Misha regarded him evenly, then broke into laughter. The laughter turned into a full-on attack, and he hid his face, guffaws threatening to break him in half. Jensen laughed too, but at Misha, because the man breaking up like that was hilarious. It was worse when Misha slid out of his chair and onto the floor, prompting Jensen to choke out, “What?” before he lost his breath. His ribs were cracking. He hadn’t laughed like that in ages. Through tear-filled eyes he saw Jared come out, his puzzled expression erupting into an ear-splitting grin as he watched the antics. He happily crossed his arms and leaned against the house. “‘Bout time,” he said.
“Shut up,” Jensen forced out in a high squeak, which sent Misha into rolls again. Now he was on his stomach on the floor, and Jensen was certain if he didn’t take a breath soon he was a goner.
“I’m not even gonna ask.” Jared waved his hand at them and took the third seat, waiting for them to calm down.
“Oh God, that was as good as sex,” Jensen sighed, and fell into laugher again, though weaker this time. “Crap, I hurt!” He glanced at Misha. “What the hell was so funny?”
Misha rolled onto his back, grinning up at the peeling porch roof. “I’ve no idea.” He made a gleeful noise and continued to grin.
“You’re both stoned, and you didn’t invite me,” Jared groused. Misha raised his head, then sat up. “Some friends you are.”
Jensen looked at Misha. It was the first time he’d shared something with the man, something that Jared couldn’t be a part of. Misha smirked and shook his head, picking up his book. “Lost my place,” he muttered with a smile. He eased back into his chair as if nothing had happened, but Jensen saw the gleam in his eye. He wondered about it. It went past mirth. And it hit him. Empathic. He’d been picking up on Misha’s uncertainty, and calling it his own. And of course he was uncertain. Look at the situation he walked in on. New job. Third wheel to two best friends. Sudden, insane fan reaction. And that was before this other crap started happening. But now he felt, as Jensen did, that something had finally been shared, that part of a wall had crumbled. Misha felt as insecure as Jensen.
Well, damn.
Jared was watching him with a knowing smile. Jensen shot him a subtle bird, distracted by an odd noise in the distance. He held up a hand. “You hear that?”
Jared turned his head to listen. Misha set down his book and stood slowly, then pointed to a thin, dark wisp rising into the air from the shanty towns in the distance. The noises finally carried up the hill. “That’s smoke,” he said.
“Is it a house on fire?” Jared asked, his head whipping as Jensen passed behind him and jumped over the few steps into the yard. He climbed into the back of Gramma’s old, broken-down pickup, parked beside the house, then leapt onto the roof, thereby having a better view than the porch. “I can’t tell. But there’s a lot of smoke going up.”
“Should we go down there?” Jared asked.
Jensen wasn’t sure. It could be a fire. It could be someone burning something in their yard. A growing sound disturbed his thoughts. He winced, then looked up as a helicopter suddenly appeared over the house. It beat over their heads, chopping through the air, hovering so low Jensen felt he could reach up and grab the runners. He heard Jared yell his name, and crouched down as the helicopter flew lower. He braced himself flat on the truck’s roof, his eyes fixed on the hunk of metal flying right over his head. The trees lashed about in the gale.
Jared and Misha were hunched in the yard, trying to watch, their hands raised to block the sun. Selma rushed out onto the porch, yelling something, but they couldn’t hear her over the noise. A car roared in front of the house, filled with yelling people. It skidded around a corner and peeled off down the street. Another plume of smoke rose, this one closer to them. The helicopter leaned to the right, and followed.
Jensen jumped from the truck. “What the hell’s going on?”
Selma rushed down to them, hiking up her skirt. “Gramma’s down there,” she said breathlessly. “That’s where Jean is.”
Okay. Smoke, yelling, helicopters, this wasn’t a good combination. “You stay here,” Jensen said instantly. “Close your door. Don’t let anyone in.”
“It’s a riot, boy! You’ve no business down there!”
“And she had no business taking us in! Is she safe down there?”
Selma’s pained expression was all he needed to see. “Look for a red house, similar to this one,” she said. “The street’s not marked, but it’s straight down the road. Go right at the old grocery store.”
Jensen remember the ugly green building with fruit painted on the side. It was long since abandoned. He’d noticed it on their walk to the beach. “We’ll keep her inside till this is over,” he reassured her.
Misha grabbed his arm. “You do realize we’re about to run into a riot?”
“So I heard.”
“Have you been in a riot?”
“Have you?”
“I’m well traveled.” Misha’s face was cautious, and determined.
“We owe it to her.”
“She might be safe where she is. Which is more than we’ll be!”
“She might not. What if she’s on her way back up here, huh?”
Misha gave a nod. It occurred to Jensen that he didn’t have a problem with the plan. He just wanted to make sure Jensen knew what he was getting into. He turned to Jared. “You stay with Selma.”
“Bullshit. You’re not going down there alone.”
“I’ve got Misha here.”
His face darkened. “No.”
“We’re wasting time!” Misha called out, heading for the street. Jensen glared at Jared, but clapped him on the arm, pulling him into a run. After all, he wouldn’t have let Jared go down there alone, either.
He couldn’t go out of the room, it hovered over the door. He couldn’t get to the window, it blocked his way. He was trapped. And it knew him, it knew he wanted to destroy it, and it wasn’t going to let that happen. The eyes turned down, angry, and glared with the menace of a thousand demons of hell.
Misha woke with a scream. The eyes continued to stare.
***************************
Jensen bolted upright in his bed, one hand flying to his chest, feeling his heart thump erratically, trying to burst its way out. The other hand was gripping the fitted sheet on the bed, popping the elastic corner from the mattress. Then his feet was on the floor and he was ready to run. All this happened before he realized the scream that had woken him, wasn’t his.
A figure was standing in his doorway.
He scrambled back, nearly falling to the floor. “Jesus!”
“God!” Misha grabbed the doorframe with both hands, then let himself sag against it, his eyes closing. In the faint light, he looked as scared as Jensen felt.
Jensen was still trying to breathe. “What the hell are you doing?”
“Having a fucking heart-attack!” Misha leaned back against the frame, eyes closing. He breathed heavily.
“Same here, dude.” The scream echoed in Jensen’s head, and thoughts of Jared crept in around it. His eyes snapped back to the door to see Jared’s hulking form now standing behind Misha, giving both himself and Misha another start. He groaned and dropped his head to his hand as Misha backed into the room, looking like he was about to fall to his knees. He’d never seen the other man so unnerved.
“What’s going on?” Gramma’s crackling voice asked, barely floating up the stairs. Selma could be heard hushing her, and the stairs creaked heavily as she came up.
Misha paced in a small circle, running his hand through his hair. He said nothing until Selma was in the doorway. “What the devil’s going on up here?” she asked in concern.
Jensen remained on his bed, but watched Misha. He knew suddenly where the scream had come from. He resisted the urge to pull the man down, to sit beside him.
Misha’s attempt to calm himself was apparent in his gestures. “God, I don’t know,” he answered. “It seems stupid now.”
“Bad dream?” Jensen asked.
Misha nodded. “I thought so. Then I realized I was awake.” He paused. “That - thing - it was in my room. It was looking down at me.” He rubbed his forehead and started to pace again. His hand carved a nervous circle as he spoke more rapidly. “I was dreaming, then I woke, and I saw it. And then it vanished. But it was right there in front of me. Over me. I’ve never felt anything so. . .vile.” He turned to Selma. “It knows what we’re here to do. It doesn’t like it, at all. And it’s being very protective.” He shot a look at Jensen. “We’re fools if we think this thing is going to leave easily. It won’t. Not unless there’s bigger game around.”
Bigger game? “You mean this thing could latch onto someone else?” Jensen asked.
“I don’t know. Possibly.”
Jared’s lips were pressed tight in concern. Jensen tried to take it all in. “Did it threaten you?”
Misha didn’t respond.
Jensen flung off his sheet and stood, crossing the room to him. “Answer me,” he demanded in a low voice. “It did, didn’t?” No answer was required. Jensen knew. They all knew.
“There’s something else,” Misha continued, his voice pitched low. “It knows we want to destroy it. Don’t think it won’t try to take you, and the rest of us, down with it.” He let the words linger, and his eyes rose to meet Jensen’s pointedly.
“Well,” Selma said softly. “ Didn’t think it would happen this fast, but I guess we’d better get this show on the road.”
“Selma? What’s up there? You know I can’t do these stairs.” The voice rose again, slightly closer, old and urgent.
Take the rest of us, Misha had said. Jensen was already targeted. Jared. Misha. What of Selma? Or. . . “Is Gramma in danger here?” Jensen asked, walking to Selma. “Did we bring this on her? Can it hurt her?”
“I don’t know. But she’s damn well gonna break her neck, trying those stairs.” Selma’s answer was terse, and she returned to ease Gramma’s fears, leaving the three men standing in the center of the room.
Jensen could see Misha was still shaken. Jared walked to them, closing the circle. “You okay?” he asked Misha.
Misha nodded, faintly, and glanced at Jared. “You still feeling sick?”
“Nah, I’m good. Just tired,” Jared admitted. But Jensen knew him well enough to see the worry there. And he was getting to where he could recognize it in Misha as well, and there the fear ran deep. It seemed the man knew more than he was letting on.
The room was lighter, growing from mostly darkness into a blue dawn. Jensen noticed the change and broke from the group to walk to his window. The budding light dimmed the stars that remained overhead. Downstairs, he could hear Selma and Gramma talking, and hear cabinet doors clicking open and slamming closed. Metal hit metal, probably a pan being set on the ancient stove top. Such a normal, homely sound.
The spell was broken. Suddenly they were just three men standing in a bedroom. He glanced down at his boxers. His brows raised, and he tugged at his shirt. “I’m gonna test the shower,” he said.
“I’ve gotta get dressed,” Misha chimed in, almost immediately.
“Yeah, I’ll go see if Gramma needs any help,” Jared offered quickly.
Jensen nodded and followed the men out. He noticed Misha hesitated for a moment before walking into his room.
He couldn’t blame him.
***************************
The day was sultry. Jared was out back, helping Selma hand wash the old stained curtains that used to hang in the front windows. They were made of old cloth, too heavy for Gramma to wash and handle. He had stripped down to his jeans, which were soaked. His burn was healed, but he worked in the shade.
Gramma had left them to the task and went to visit a friend. Misha spent a lot of time on the front porch, tea on the small iron table beside him, book in hand. He wore a pair of dark shorts and a short-sleeved shirt. His sandals were beside his chair. His feet were propped on the railing. He looked at ease, like he belonged there.
But Jensen was about to jump out of his skin. “How do you do that?” he asked from the door.
Misha looked up. “Do what?”
“Just sit there. Like nothing’s going on.”
Misha squinted out into the small yard. “Nothing is.” He smiled. “Actually, that’s a lie. There’s always something going on.”
“And that’s the problem.” Jensen sighed heavily and sat in the chair that was tucked into the corner of the porch. He found out why when it tilted alarmingly. Misha’s brows raised, and he gestured to the seat beside him.
“Right.” Jensen cleared his throat and sat. “Whatcha reading?”
Misha turned the cover of a crime novel to him.
“Right,” he said again, studying his hands.
He wished he could explain the tension in the air. Misha didn’t seem to feel it, but to Jensen it was whip-sharp. He straightened and rubbed his palms on his jeans. “Listen. We gotta talk.” He couldn’t take it anymore.
Misha glanced at him and slowly dog-eared the page he was reading. “What about?”
What about? How about the tension that reminded him of kids on a first date. That he wasn’t comfortable with the Supernatural Twosome becoming a threesome. Or how about that Misha intimidated the crap out of him and he couldn’t figure the guy out. “I have no idea.” And that admission made him grin sheepishly.
Misha regarded him evenly, then broke into laughter. The laughter turned into a full-on attack, and he hid his face, guffaws threatening to break him in half. Jensen laughed too, but at Misha, because the man breaking up like that was hilarious. It was worse when Misha slid out of his chair and onto the floor, prompting Jensen to choke out, “What?” before he lost his breath. His ribs were cracking. He hadn’t laughed like that in ages. Through tear-filled eyes he saw Jared come out, his puzzled expression erupting into an ear-splitting grin as he watched the antics. He happily crossed his arms and leaned against the house. “‘Bout time,” he said.
“Shut up,” Jensen forced out in a high squeak, which sent Misha into rolls again. Now he was on his stomach on the floor, and Jensen was certain if he didn’t take a breath soon he was a goner.
“I’m not even gonna ask.” Jared waved his hand at them and took the third seat, waiting for them to calm down.
“Oh God, that was as good as sex,” Jensen sighed, and fell into laugher again, though weaker this time. “Crap, I hurt!” He glanced at Misha. “What the hell was so funny?”
Misha rolled onto his back, grinning up at the peeling porch roof. “I’ve no idea.” He made a gleeful noise and continued to grin.
“You’re both stoned, and you didn’t invite me,” Jared groused. Misha raised his head, then sat up. “Some friends you are.”
Jensen looked at Misha. It was the first time he’d shared something with the man, something that Jared couldn’t be a part of. Misha smirked and shook his head, picking up his book. “Lost my place,” he muttered with a smile. He eased back into his chair as if nothing had happened, but Jensen saw the gleam in his eye. He wondered about it. It went past mirth. And it hit him. Empathic. He’d been picking up on Misha’s uncertainty, and calling it his own. And of course he was uncertain. Look at the situation he walked in on. New job. Third wheel to two best friends. Sudden, insane fan reaction. And that was before this other crap started happening. But now he felt, as Jensen did, that something had finally been shared, that part of a wall had crumbled. Misha felt as insecure as Jensen.
Well, damn.
Jared was watching him with a knowing smile. Jensen shot him a subtle bird, distracted by an odd noise in the distance. He held up a hand. “You hear that?”
Jared turned his head to listen. Misha set down his book and stood slowly, then pointed to a thin, dark wisp rising into the air from the shanty towns in the distance. The noises finally carried up the hill. “That’s smoke,” he said.
“Is it a house on fire?” Jared asked, his head whipping as Jensen passed behind him and jumped over the few steps into the yard. He climbed into the back of Gramma’s old, broken-down pickup, parked beside the house, then leapt onto the roof, thereby having a better view than the porch. “I can’t tell. But there’s a lot of smoke going up.”
“Should we go down there?” Jared asked.
Jensen wasn’t sure. It could be a fire. It could be someone burning something in their yard. A growing sound disturbed his thoughts. He winced, then looked up as a helicopter suddenly appeared over the house. It beat over their heads, chopping through the air, hovering so low Jensen felt he could reach up and grab the runners. He heard Jared yell his name, and crouched down as the helicopter flew lower. He braced himself flat on the truck’s roof, his eyes fixed on the hunk of metal flying right over his head. The trees lashed about in the gale.
Jared and Misha were hunched in the yard, trying to watch, their hands raised to block the sun. Selma rushed out onto the porch, yelling something, but they couldn’t hear her over the noise. A car roared in front of the house, filled with yelling people. It skidded around a corner and peeled off down the street. Another plume of smoke rose, this one closer to them. The helicopter leaned to the right, and followed.
Jensen jumped from the truck. “What the hell’s going on?”
Selma rushed down to them, hiking up her skirt. “Gramma’s down there,” she said breathlessly. “That’s where Jean is.”
Okay. Smoke, yelling, helicopters, this wasn’t a good combination. “You stay here,” Jensen said instantly. “Close your door. Don’t let anyone in.”
“It’s a riot, boy! You’ve no business down there!”
“And she had no business taking us in! Is she safe down there?”
Selma’s pained expression was all he needed to see. “Look for a red house, similar to this one,” she said. “The street’s not marked, but it’s straight down the road. Go right at the old grocery store.”
Jensen remember the ugly green building with fruit painted on the side. It was long since abandoned. He’d noticed it on their walk to the beach. “We’ll keep her inside till this is over,” he reassured her.
Misha grabbed his arm. “You do realize we’re about to run into a riot?”
“So I heard.”
“Have you been in a riot?”
“Have you?”
“I’m well traveled.” Misha’s face was cautious, and determined.
“We owe it to her.”
“She might be safe where she is. Which is more than we’ll be!”
“She might not. What if she’s on her way back up here, huh?”
Misha gave a nod. It occurred to Jensen that he didn’t have a problem with the plan. He just wanted to make sure Jensen knew what he was getting into. He turned to Jared. “You stay with Selma.”
“Bullshit. You’re not going down there alone.”
“I’ve got Misha here.”
His face darkened. “No.”
“We’re wasting time!” Misha called out, heading for the street. Jensen glared at Jared, but clapped him on the arm, pulling him into a run. After all, he wouldn’t have let Jared go down there alone, either.