NewU Pt. 25

I straightened up, listening intently. A memory of a passing comment flickered in my mind. "What does Lori call you?" I asked.

"Evelyn," She squinted.

"No, she said something about having a nickname for you."

Evie scrunched up her face. "I mean, she used to think I was a fairy when we were younger. But she hasn't called me that for years."

Charlotte tilted her head to the side. "Why did she call you that?"

"She thought I was magic. She thought I was a fairy stranded in the world of normal people. She has always had an active imagination." Charlotte held her eye, all of us knowing there was more to the story than that. Evie sighed. "Okay, I am a really good judge of character."

Charlotte's smile grew a little wider as she started to translate the cryptic answer. "You can tell things about people, can't you?"

Evie nodded. "Almost everyone," She looked over at me again.

"Can you make them do things?" My friend asked the suddenly embarrassed looking blonde.

"No, of course not. Wait, can you?"

"Not really. Well, sort of," Charlotte answered carefully. "With us, it is more like influencing someone, planting an idea. We can't make them do something, but we can usually make humans think that something was their idea, and they do it. Nothing extreme, though. We couldn't get a human to do something outside their core nature; we couldn't make them kill themselves, for example."

Evie's eyes shot open. "Licking the rim!"

Charlotte choked on her own tongue. "Sorry?"

"The night I first met Pete after his accident, I had this really weird and overwhelming urge to lick the rim of my glass! That was you, wasn't it?" Evie looked at me.

I nodded.

Charlotte giggled. "Well, compared to what he could have made you do, that is pretty tame."

"Wait," Evie frowned again. "Was... the rest of that night something you made me do as well?"

Charlotte answered before I could. "Did you enjoy it?" Evie nodded slowly. "Then it wasn't him. Technically, Pete is powerful enough to make you do almost anything, but it is impossible for him to make you enjoy it. You already liked him before the accident, didn't you?" Evie nodded again, blushing slightly. "Then that was all you, honey. Well, aside from the urge to lick the glass."

I managed to hide the frown. Either I was capable of much more than Charlotte was, or she wasn't being entirely truthful. Evie would have taken a plastic Santa to bed and fucked the shit out of it that night after all the manipulations I had wound into her mind. It was one of the reasons I didn't entirely trust my relationship with Evie. How much faith could you put into a relationship with someone who had been made to feel something for you?

Evie nodded at the reassurance, casting another blushing glance my way. "So what happens now?" she asked nervously as she turned her attention back to Charlotte. "Do I become like you?"

Charlotte opened her mouth to answer but frowned instead. "Hmmm, that's actually a really good question. I honestly have no idea. You see, our kind has people that do that sort of thing. It's called an awakening, it unlocks your mind for you to use. But almost everyone goes through it around the onset of puberty. In fact, as far as we know, Pete is the only person who has ever been awakened during adulthood. I'm not sure if unlocking your mind now is even possible, but even if it was, I don't have the first idea how to do it."

Evie nodded, looking more than a little disappointed, but stayed as silent as the rest of us as she mulled things over in her mind. The stillness echoed around the room for almost five minutes before she spoke again. "How bad was the crash?" she asked me. "I mean, if this whole thing is caused due to prenatal illnesses, then I'm guessing Pete was like me until the crash. It must have been pretty bad for him to go from this." she gestured to herself "... to that."

Charlotte looked over to me and sighed before looking back to Evie. "I was actually one of his nurses, and so was Becky. That is how we met. It was... I suppose there is no point downplaying it. He would have died several times over if it wasn't for his powers. He would never have walked again, even if he had survived, and would have been looking at massive amounts of brain damage either way. In all honesty, we have no idea why he is so powerful, but you're right. That could be part of it."

"It just seems odd, is all."

"What does?"

"Well, It's pretty clear that those people found me and targeted me because of my relationship with Pete, but if you can sense I am different, then so could this traitor you were talking about. If that traitor could detect me, then maybe he detected Pete before the accident. I'm just wondering if it was an accident at all. Maybe they were planning on doing to me what they did to him. Sorry, it was just a thought."

Evie frowned at the utterly astonished look on Charlotte's pale face. "I'm... I'm guessing that is not something you had considered before," she said slowly.

Charlotte turned to me. I was rubbing my temples as I met her gaze. A half-shrug, pursed lips, and a slow shake of my head were all I could manage to communicate how far in over my head I seemed to be. If Evie was right, this whole ordeal had been orchestrated since the beginning. But by whom?

"We have no way of knowing either way," I sighed, pressing my head back against the door. "But if you are right, that puts you in even more danger."

"What can I do to help?" She asked tentatively. "I can't just sit here and wait to see what happens. If they wanted me to be involved so badly, then I am fighting!"

Charlotte huffed out a dry laugh. "I can see why you liked her."

"That man outside," Evie pressed. "Do you think he knows anything?"

"Maybe," Charlotte asked. "But he would never tell us, even if he did."

"You're going to torture him, aren't you? To get the truth out of him."

"What makes you say that?" Charlotte asked, surprised by the apparent resolve in Evie's young eyes.

"Well, it's not much of a leap considering what I walked in on the other night."

Charlotte frowned. "What did you walk in on the other night?"

"I was nailing him to the chair," I answered for Evie.

"He's nailed to it?"

"Yup."

Charlotte snorted. "Nice."

"That's a yes, isn't it?" Evie asked again.

"No. Not really," I replied again. "At least not in the way you are thinking. I am going to break his mind, then make him give us the answers."

"That... somehow sounds worse."

"Oh, it will be."

"Evie, you don't need to be a part of this," Charlotte cautioned. "There are some nightmares that will never go away."

"I'm already part of this," she said, straightening her shoulders and holding Charlotte's gaze. "And if I'm in, then I'm in all the way. They have ruined my life. I am never going to be able to feel safe again unless I fight for it."

"You don't need to make a decision about that now, and being involved doesn't mean you have to watch that." Charlotte nodded.

"Are you going to watch it?"

"He killed one of my closest friends," Charlotte answered firmly. "I owe it to her to see justice served."

"Then I am going to be there too," The blonde on the bed asserted. "I need it as well."

"Well, nothing is going to be happening tonight," I said, pulling myself away from the door. "It's too late now, and it's been a long day for both of you. Charlotte, you can have the room next door. Try to get some rest, both of you."

"Where are you sleeping?" Charlotte asked. I just cast her a look. "You haven't slept since the warehouse, have you." I shook my head.

"Toussant needs to be kept awake," I said simply. "And I need to prepare myself."

Charlotte sighed and then nodded. "Okay, Well, if Evie doesn't mind, I will stay here a little longer to get to know her, then I will come to see you before calling it a night."

I nodded with the best impression of a smile I could muster, wished them both goodnight, and then stepped out of the room.

********

Mary shivered again as the horrifying memories of Christmas Eve once again flashed through her mind. She had held that knife so tightly; she had been so prepared to use it. More than eight decades on this earth, and she had never thought herself capable of the sort of violence she had been ready to commit that night.

She looked over at the large double bed. Her darling Stan was resting against the headboard, his head lolled to the side as he dozed. Their children were all curled up on the bed around him. Well, not their son. He had canceled plans to attend the traditional family Christmas at home. At first, she had been heartbroken about that, but now she was just grateful. At least one member of her family wouldn't have to live with the nightmares of what happened. Not like the little ones. She looked at them, sleeping peacefully in their parents' arms, but it was only a matter of time before one of them woke up screaming from the nightmares of masked men and ruined childhoods.

Days of broken sleep had led the family to catch up on rest whenever they could. But the children could not bear to be separated from any of the adults for even the briefest of moments.

The man and the woman downstairs had been kind and gracious. Fiona and Jerry, they had called themselves, tried to stay out of the way, but their presence alone was more than enough of a reminder for the entire family to avoid them. They were still waiting for Pete. The mysterious man who had saved them, she couldn't imagine why they were waiting for him. Still, a not insignificant part of her felt safer with them around.

She looked out of her bedroom window and into the darkness. It wasn't late. It was barely 9pm, but the sun gave way to the night early at this time of year. But she could make out a shadow of movement slowly making its way up the garden path. She squinted into the darkness and felt that pit of fear starting to rise in her chest.

Until the doorbell rang.

The family woke with a start, wide-eyed and frantically looking around at each other, making sure everyone was accounted for before the panic set in. The bedroom door opened, and Fiona slid her head through the gap. "He's here," she smiled reassuringly. "He's asked that you meet him downstairs."

Mary nodded mutely and cast a look back at Stan. Her husband, having spoken to the man before she was allowed back into the house, had been impressed with him. But he hadn't seen what she had. Peering through the wind-swept, rain-lashed window of the car, barely having the courage to peek her eyes over the rim of the door and watching as he so effortlessly butchered their attackers. She was glad he did. She was under no illusion what would have happened if he hadn't, but there was no denying that this Pete character was an unbelievably dangerous man. She couldn't decide how she felt about him being around her family.

It didn't take the adults long to corral the younger generation out of the master bedroom and down the stairs. Mary and Stan had both seen the carnage that had been left of the front hall after the attack. The bullet holes, the blood coagulating on the floor and sprayed onto the walls... the bodies. But now, looking around, you would never tell that anything had happened. Every hole had been filled, every wall had been repapered, every step of the staircase and every wooden pillar of its banister had been repainted and revarnished. Even Stan's old recliner, where the last body had been left, had been replaced to look almost exactly the same as it always had done. The only sign that anything had ever happened in the hallway of their family home was the slight smell of paint.

The man she knew as Pete was waiting by the front door. Fiona and Jerry were standing on either side of him. But he looked different. Haggard and drawn, his eyes looked haunted, yet he still managed a smile as he saw them coming down the stairs.

"Hello, Mary," his voice almost croaked. "How are you?"

"We are safe," She answered, "Thanks to you. Did you manage to get to your friend?" His smile faltered, and he slowly shook his head. "Oh, no. I'm so sorry."

"Thank you, Mary," he nodded. The genuine tone of his voice was at complete odds with the memories of what he did that night. "For what it is worth, I think if she were given the choice between her death and yours, she would have changed nothing."

"That is no choice anyone should have to make," Stan said from behind her. "You saved our family, son. We owe you everything."

"You owe me nothing," the man smiled again. "You all looked after each other, as I'm sure you will keep doing."

"Are my parents safe now?" Sophie, her eldest daughter, asked. Pete nodded reassuringly.

"Mary, I wanted to thank you," He said after the family breathed a collective sigh of relief.

"Thank me? For what?"

"You getting to me as fast as you did let me save another person who had been taken. I couldn't save both, but because of you, I managed to save one of them."

"Oh, I am so glad to hear that, But really, you shouldn't thank me."

"You're right," he answered. "I shouldn't." He leaned to his side and whispered something to Jerry, who nodded in turn and led Fiona out of the house. "I shouldn't have to thank you because none of this should ever have happened to you. So I am here to make it better."

"How?"

Pete just smiled and took a breath. "Goodbye, Mary."

Her vision wobbled a little, lightheadedness washing over her as her view of the man blurred and then faded. She was jerked alert again by a shoulder, almost knocking her down the stairs as one of the giggling, playful grandkids raced past her, chased by the other two.

"What have I told you about running down the stairs?!" Sophie yelled from behind her. "You almost knocked Grandma over, you little rascals!"

Stan chuckled, kissing his wife on the cheek as he passed her. "You okay, love?"

"Hmm?" she answered. "Oh yes, just a little tired. I think I might have overdone it this Christmas."

"Well, it was a resounding success, as are all your Christmas', Mama," Sophie smiled as she passed her parents before ducking into the kitchen to make tea.

Mary chuckled, looking around the house she had called home for decades. Memories of the flawless Christmas dinner, the laughter of the little ones, the heaps of wrapping paper, the gasps of gleeful surprise, memories of the perfect Christmas washed over her as she watched Stan drop into his chair with a sigh, only to be swamped by the grandkids.

"Get off your Grandad!" Sophie's voice echoed from the kitchen with a laugh. "He's not a trampoline. If you keep jumping on him like that, he is going to pop!"

Her darling little ones all giggled riotously as Stan used his hands to simulate his belly exploding.

Mary chuckled again and descended the last few steps, stopping to peer out of the window next to the door in time to watch a car pulling away and heading out into the night.

All in all, this Christmas had been about as good as it could have been. Now she could look forward to a quiet new year and a glass of sherry with Stan at midnight. She frowned suddenly, looking around the front hall of her house - wondering if the kids had spilled something - before she shrugged it off.

"Everything alright, wife?" Stan called over.

"Yeah, everything is fine. For a moment, I thought I could smell paint."