Balance
For: Iron Fic #5
Thank to Rooster455 for betareading~! :yay:
Note:
This story is based very loosely on the recent horror film The Haunting in Connecticut. If you've seen the movie, note that it is in no way a "fanfic" for that movie, but uses it heavily as inspiration all the same. The names of characters have been used, and their appearances, but their dynamics are all screwy if you go by canon. For all intents and purposes this is just a story. I made no money from this story, nor am I affiliated with the movie's company/sponsors in any way.
------------------------------
ôàJonah?ö
I blinked and glanced up from my backpack. Everything seemed to be in order, but hey, no harm in checking twice. Or three times. Having a forgetful streak can make you a bit touchy about making sure you have everythingà but it all seemed to be there. I gave Matt a silent tilt of my head and he sighed.
ôGo home.ö
ôNo.ö
ôJonahàö
ôThis is my job. IÆm tough. Now go on, shoo.ö I flicked one hand back and forth at him, using the other to balance as I climbed to my feet. ôDonÆt you have something to do? You know, give testimony, set up voice recorders, talk to the familyà?ö
He twitched. ôYou spent how long last night bent over a toilet making unearthly sounds that frightened the whole sÚance? And after that I stayed with you how long to make sure you were gonna be okay?ö
ôYou didnÆt have to do that,ö I shrugged, taking another Chloraseptic cough drop out of my back pocket and putting it into my mouth. As soon as my throat went numb again, I continued. ôI even told you that you didnÆt have toàö
ôAnd leave you there? What kind of friend would I be if I did that?ö Matt pulled his phone out of his pocket and brought up a dark picture of a white-as-milk girl, her lips stained red and crimson spots on her hands and arms from where sheÆd covered her mouth to cough, her expression a picture of agony that bordered crying out. I winced. He did have a pointà butà
ôMatt, delete that thing before someone sees. You got my bad side and I look ten pounds heavier.ö
ôBah. YouÆre just trying to change the subjectùthis is why I stayed with you.ö He stepped closer, putting one hand on my shoulder and rocking backward, forward, left, rightùthe same order as crossing oneself. ôBalance check,ö he said, nodding when I kept my feet. ôOkay, fine, IÆll quit bothering you. But maybe you should sit it out tonight, eh? If we even need a sÚanceà it wouldnÆt hurt to let someone else tackle it.ö
ôWhat, like you? And how do you think IÆll feel when you seize like a drug addict and start throwing up ectoplasm, eh? You have no reflex control so itÆd get all over the table, the mediumùthatÆs you, Mattùand the familyà yeahà no. IÆm not putting you through that. And with the possibility of it ignitingàö
ôThat only happened once, in a movie might I add.ö
ôThe Haunting in Connecticut is not just a movie. ItÆs a well-researched horrorfest.ö
ôMhmmà Sureà But youÆll put yourself through all that, Jonah. How interesting that youÆd take battery acid and lumps of fiberglass insulation clawing its way up out of your stomach, very nearly choking you, and at times leaking out your nose or ears via the Eustachian tubesà all for little old me. I donÆt know, Jonah, I think youÆre just a masochistàö
ôShut up. ItÆs my job.ö
ôYou job is as the teamÆs demonologist, not a necromancer, and you know it.ö
ôItÆs my power then.ö I broke the cough drop in two between my back teeth and sucked hard for a few seconds, the increased surface area helping out any lingering sore spots in the lower reaches of my throat. Ahhà ôThe point is that itÆs not yours, and as a mediumùwhich allow me to remind you youÆre not that good at anywayùyouÆre not the most powerful person on the team. If they need me, IÆll help out. Period.ö
ôJonahùö
ôPeriod, mister mother hen.ö
ôIf you werenÆt such a stubborn muleùö
ôPeriod.ö
Matt gave me a long look, sighed. His job was not that of a medium most of the time, to begin with. It was that tricky job of being the glue that held our scrappy little team together. We werenÆt the Ghost Hunters but we got the job done, for a low price, quickly and quietly. And with my help we provided the family with a few thrills.
Which was fun.
A lot of fun.
Sometimes it was just using my or MattÆs sneaky, silent ways, turning out the lights, making the radio flicker on and off [fishing line and glue are cheap and wonderful things to have], stuff like that. Sometimes, it was something a little moreà coaxing someone or something free from its binds a little more forcefully than I ought. Not enough to hurt them, threats mostlyà hellfire and brimstone like an old man. Which really, should have been AickmanÆs job, or the Rev. GibbsÆs job, but theyÆre both cursed with zero stage presenceà
Sometimes we didnÆt need special effects. In those times we cleared the whole family out, sent them to a nice hotel for the night, and proceeded to cleanse the whole house.
That wouldnÆt be happening tonight, though, we were fairly sure. Aickman was the team barometer and he was completely calm, joking with the family, putting on a big show. Beyond him Gibbs was the team worrywartùReverends tend to be like that, I guessùand even he didnÆt seem too apprehensive. IÆd get around to setting up anything I might need later; right now I could afford to try and strike up a quick conversation.
Being a necromancer by trade or by talent means you get to know a lot about spirits and the like. Most of this knowledge is intuitive, learned the hard, stumbling way over years upon years. The upside is that very quickly, finding and drawing in nonphysical entities becomesà well, second nature. Like learning to listen to one voice in a crowded room, or keep your eyes on one line of print in a book.
So youÆll understand, at least a little anyway, when I say that I had no qualms about sitting right down against the nearest wall, opening my mind to the house and hiking up my shirt in the back to press my bare skin against the drywall. ThereÆs very little risk in that.
Hmm.
I closed my eyes, half-asleep in a way. A girlà she had a bright orange shirt, cocoa brown skin. Denim shorts that just passed her knees, yellow flip-flops with sequins. She gave me a nervous grin and I smiled back.
She hadnÆt died hereà sheÆd lived. Now the only question was why sheÆd left this part of herself behind. Obviously, she wasnÆt very unhappyà this child here had lived in this house until the day that her heyday had ended when the person had grown up.
Usually, people keep their inner child with them, locked away inside, or sometimes just below the surface. Trauma, or simply a personÆs disposition sometimes, can cause them to be left behind. More likely itÆs trauma. So what had happened? Bullying, divorceà
Tall dark and decomposing. I gulped and shuddered at the sudden appearance, and cringed when he put his hand against the girlÆs shoulder. She looked up at himùblackened skin, dripping exposed sinew and allùand smiled a sunny smile, beginning to chatter to him in words I couldnÆt make out, could barely hear. Sound was never my strong suit; IÆm a visual person. He picked her up on his lap, held her close, hugged her and took a deep breath of her hair. HeÆd obviously died here. They shared some connection.
He stroked her back, his hands seeming so large against her thin young frame. He eased her shirt off. I bit my lip and hoped there was something else going onà anything else, pleaseà
He covered her mouth in a kiss when she whimpered and when he pulled away her lips were stained black. I choked on a gasp of anger and indignation, winced and broke the connection, standing and going to find Aickman. Angry, embarrassed, pained energy coursed through me. Ohh, this bastard would pay. He would pay dearly. I would drag him out of this house by his thumbs if I had to channel someone out of my depth to do it, box his ears good and hard, and shove him feet first into the next worldà hopefully one filled with fire and gnashing of teeth. Rrrgh. But first the rest of the team needed to know that we werenÆt just dealing with your garden variety poltergeist here.
I could have spoken to Gibbs about it, butàehh. He was having a good time so far and I hated to spoil it. Aickman lived for the chance to help tortured souls, so heÆd be happy, in a way, to hear about it. I found him in the kitchen, talking to the family: a girl, a boy, and their parents, plus a big black and white bird dog. The perfect familial unità sick bastard must be so pleased with those two little kidsà
ôAickman.ö
He tilted his head back and gave me a sidelong glance. ôJonah.ö
I sighed. ôGot a minuteà?ö
ôAll the time in the world,ö he smiled, turning back to the family. ôDid you need something?ö
ôAs a matter of fact,ö I muttered, tugging his sleeve until he got the hint and followed me with a derisive chuckle. ôThat I do. CÆmere.ö
ôSo impatientàö
ôYeah, yeah. We have a problem. The family canÆt sit in and they canÆt get a full story. They need to go.ö I explained as best I could, knowing that Aickman would eventually want more from me. It could wait. Hopefully, it could wait for a very long time. He nodded and rubbed his hands together thoughtfully as if massaging sore joints.
ôYes, I suppose. WeÆll try to get them set up with a hotel, but mainly they need to stay out of the house, eh?ö
ôIf at all possible.ö
He nodded. ôOkayà I think I can do that. Most importantly, at all costs, IÆd say we need the kids out of the house, right? TheyÆre the liability here. What IÆm seeing is that the kid had at least one adult on her sideà he found outà killed the man who was hurting herà but her inner child was dead already and trapped in these walls forever.ö
ôReal nice,ö I muttered, and Aickman shrugged. ôNow about the kidsàö I glanced back at them, bouncing around at the parentsÆ feet and making ôWoooooö ghost sounds. ôThey probably need to be occupiedà we could send them all to a movie or something.ö
ôBah. No. IÆm not paying for tickets.ö Aickman nodded decisively and led me back into the kitchen. ôAre you kids bored?ö
ôYeah!ö They chorused together, jumping up and down. ôCan we play with your fancy camera?ö
ôErà noà but you can play with Jonah here!ö He shoved me forward and I barely had time to kick him in the shin before I was at his armÆs length, staring down at a six-year-old girl and a three-year-old boy, both of whom stared right back up at me.
ôJonah is a boyÆs name,ö the girl informed me. I twitched.
ôI know, but my parents really wanted to name me that. They named me afterùö
ôI know! Jonah and the whale.ö
ôSplash,ö her brother chirped.
I had been going to say that they named me after a very powerful, manifestation-based medium of the 1920s whose life, and death, had been shrouded in mystery in his small hometown somewhere in Connecticut. But then again, looking down at these two kids, that would have been a bad idea. I nodded and turned back to Aickman, glaring murderously.
ôI hate kids and you know it,ö I hissed under my breath.
ôYou were the one who wanted them out of the house,ö he shrugged, adjusting his old granny glasses. ôAnd besides, we wonÆt be needing you anywayùö
ôYes you will!ö
ôYou are not going to run yourself into the ground, Jonah. Matt or myself will take over for you tonight.ö
ôMatt.ö
ôMatt.ö
ôIÆm gonna kill himùö
ôNow, now. You need to be looking out for yourselfà besides, Matt is better at this than you give him credit for.ö
ôHeÆs a puppy!ö
ôSays the 22-year-old necromance.ö
ôDemonologist.ö
ôOh, like fun you are.ö He sighed. ôNow come onà you wanted justice, did you not? And justice, Jonah mÆdear, is just a matter of keeping things in balance, is it not? ItÆs not always so much punishing the offender, as it is making sure the victim makes a full recoveryà donÆt you agree?ö
ôYeah. Balance. WhatÆs your point?ö
ôMy point is that these kids have been through hell. Young children compartmentalize and ignore easily, but theyÆve been frightened, theyÆve been hurtà who knows how badlyàö
I winced and lowered my gaze.
ôAnd now people are coming in and stirring up their nightmares, making them real, assuring them that it wasnÆt just a bad dreamà come on, now, thatÆs not justice. They arenÆt making a full recovery. TheyÆre getting the short end of the stickà donÆt they deserve, at the least, a game of hide and seek?ö
ôàFine. One game.ö
ôCan we play Follow the Leader too?ö
ôIùö
ôRacinÆ too?ö
ôEràö
ôGo on, you three. Outside. LetÆs go!ö Aickman grinned and herded us out through the back door into the large, clear yard. I sighed.
ôOkayà what do we play first?ö
ôWe can play Follow the Leader. IÆm the leader.ö The girl drew herself up, dark blonde hair streaming in a gentle breeze. My own thick, chocolate brown bangs fell into my face and I twitched. Little Miss Boss Lady alreadyà oh wellà I lined up behind her brother, marching like she did with my knees coming up as high as they would. Maybe this wouldnÆt be so hardà
And after allùspin, bow, cartwheel, spin, walk in a zig-zag lineùthis was, in a way, the justice that we couldnÆt otherwise give. Someone else could take care of the ghosts and the energies. If Matt had some kind of an accident, well, who better to help him recover? And thinking about his short blonde hair soaked with sweat, his warm skin under my hands as I worked on himà his half-open pretty grey/blue eyes, short delicate lashes fluttering, and a deep crimson stain to his pale lipsà his thin frame lying limp across my stretched out legs, those long legs of his sprawled wide and his shoulders against my hipsà
Hmmmmmà
ôYou missed a step!ö
ôIùeh?ö
The girl smirked at me. ôYou missed a step. But itÆs okay, so did Bubba.ö I sighed and followed them again. Airplane arms, stomp around like an angry person, walk like a sleepwalker or zombie. Handstand, splits, kneel, tuck and rollà jeez, what a workout. IÆd forgotten that kids have that boundless energyà
ôLetÆs race now, okay?ö
Rightà boundless energy. Then again, a perfect summer evening like this was too good not to waste. I was having some fun, in an odd sort of way. Sighing, I nodded and stretched. ôSure. Where do we race to?ö
ôWe do car racinÆ! TrackÆs round,ö the younger one said proudly. I glanced down at his shirt, which featured a CGI red racecar and the words, ôKa-Chow!ö Okay. Car racing. Fine.
ôHow many lapsà?ö
ôI dunno,ö he grinned. ôReadysteadygo!ö
Sometime later, we all collapsed into the grass, panting. The kids jumped back up after a second but I stayed down, nursing a huge stitch in my side. The youngest, a boy who resembled his sister but with lighter hair and sun freckles, grinned and whooped.
ôI win, I win!ö
They were so happyà
Good lord, though, this was painful. Not in the same way the aftermath of a sÚance could be painfulùsoreness, hot, stabbing pains when your nerves misfired in the calamity, the pain caused by manifesting ectoplasmùIÆve never understood why any medium in their right mind would want that, and for a more powerful worker like a necromance itÆs more of an unfortunate side effect. Probably a very good explanation of why the majority of its use in the media was as fake as a movie starÆs smile.
This wasà a very different pain, very real somehow, a localized ache in several areas. ItÆd been a while since a lot of pain had been dealt by the physical worldà I needed to learn to bear it. The kids were happy and they werenÆt worried as much, and the sun was setting. Soon the parents would come to get them, and I could go back inside and help out with the observation, the eletromag readings, the sÚanceà if they hadnÆt already given my spot to Matt. Bah, that kid has no idea what heÆs getting into.
ôLetÆs play racing again!ö
ôLetÆs play tag!ö
ôYeah, and Simon Says and Leapfrog and Hide and Seek and Rocket Shipàö
ôYeah yeah! But first we play tag.ö
ôTag!ö
I felt the grass under me, nice and soft, and considered requesting that they not make me get up. Butà they deserved thisà this justice.
A small hand touched me and a high voice shouted, ôYouÆre it!ö
I stood and winced, put another cough drop in my mouth. Justice in its more gentle and fated form was still justice, even if it was a bit tricky to administer, and it healed rather than caused more pain and suffering. It was just as important, maybe more so, as the justice IÆd been itching to deliver hours before.
Howeverà
ôHave you kids ever played the Quiet Game?ö
Even justice has its limits.
--------------------------------------
For: Iron Fic #5
Thank to Rooster455 for betareading~! :yay:
Note:
This story is based very loosely on the recent horror film The Haunting in Connecticut. If you've seen the movie, note that it is in no way a "fanfic" for that movie, but uses it heavily as inspiration all the same. The names of characters have been used, and their appearances, but their dynamics are all screwy if you go by canon. For all intents and purposes this is just a story. I made no money from this story, nor am I affiliated with the movie's company/sponsors in any way.
------------------------------
ôàJonah?ö
I blinked and glanced up from my backpack. Everything seemed to be in order, but hey, no harm in checking twice. Or three times. Having a forgetful streak can make you a bit touchy about making sure you have everythingà but it all seemed to be there. I gave Matt a silent tilt of my head and he sighed.
ôGo home.ö
ôNo.ö
ôJonahàö
ôThis is my job. IÆm tough. Now go on, shoo.ö I flicked one hand back and forth at him, using the other to balance as I climbed to my feet. ôDonÆt you have something to do? You know, give testimony, set up voice recorders, talk to the familyà?ö
He twitched. ôYou spent how long last night bent over a toilet making unearthly sounds that frightened the whole sÚance? And after that I stayed with you how long to make sure you were gonna be okay?ö
ôYou didnÆt have to do that,ö I shrugged, taking another Chloraseptic cough drop out of my back pocket and putting it into my mouth. As soon as my throat went numb again, I continued. ôI even told you that you didnÆt have toàö
ôAnd leave you there? What kind of friend would I be if I did that?ö Matt pulled his phone out of his pocket and brought up a dark picture of a white-as-milk girl, her lips stained red and crimson spots on her hands and arms from where sheÆd covered her mouth to cough, her expression a picture of agony that bordered crying out. I winced. He did have a pointà butà
ôMatt, delete that thing before someone sees. You got my bad side and I look ten pounds heavier.ö
ôBah. YouÆre just trying to change the subjectùthis is why I stayed with you.ö He stepped closer, putting one hand on my shoulder and rocking backward, forward, left, rightùthe same order as crossing oneself. ôBalance check,ö he said, nodding when I kept my feet. ôOkay, fine, IÆll quit bothering you. But maybe you should sit it out tonight, eh? If we even need a sÚanceà it wouldnÆt hurt to let someone else tackle it.ö
ôWhat, like you? And how do you think IÆll feel when you seize like a drug addict and start throwing up ectoplasm, eh? You have no reflex control so itÆd get all over the table, the mediumùthatÆs you, Mattùand the familyà yeahà no. IÆm not putting you through that. And with the possibility of it ignitingàö
ôThat only happened once, in a movie might I add.ö
ôThe Haunting in Connecticut is not just a movie. ItÆs a well-researched horrorfest.ö
ôMhmmà Sureà But youÆll put yourself through all that, Jonah. How interesting that youÆd take battery acid and lumps of fiberglass insulation clawing its way up out of your stomach, very nearly choking you, and at times leaking out your nose or ears via the Eustachian tubesà all for little old me. I donÆt know, Jonah, I think youÆre just a masochistàö
ôShut up. ItÆs my job.ö
ôYou job is as the teamÆs demonologist, not a necromancer, and you know it.ö
ôItÆs my power then.ö I broke the cough drop in two between my back teeth and sucked hard for a few seconds, the increased surface area helping out any lingering sore spots in the lower reaches of my throat. Ahhà ôThe point is that itÆs not yours, and as a mediumùwhich allow me to remind you youÆre not that good at anywayùyouÆre not the most powerful person on the team. If they need me, IÆll help out. Period.ö
ôJonahùö
ôPeriod, mister mother hen.ö
ôIf you werenÆt such a stubborn muleùö
ôPeriod.ö
Matt gave me a long look, sighed. His job was not that of a medium most of the time, to begin with. It was that tricky job of being the glue that held our scrappy little team together. We werenÆt the Ghost Hunters but we got the job done, for a low price, quickly and quietly. And with my help we provided the family with a few thrills.
Which was fun.
A lot of fun.
Sometimes it was just using my or MattÆs sneaky, silent ways, turning out the lights, making the radio flicker on and off [fishing line and glue are cheap and wonderful things to have], stuff like that. Sometimes, it was something a little moreà coaxing someone or something free from its binds a little more forcefully than I ought. Not enough to hurt them, threats mostlyà hellfire and brimstone like an old man. Which really, should have been AickmanÆs job, or the Rev. GibbsÆs job, but theyÆre both cursed with zero stage presenceà
Sometimes we didnÆt need special effects. In those times we cleared the whole family out, sent them to a nice hotel for the night, and proceeded to cleanse the whole house.
That wouldnÆt be happening tonight, though, we were fairly sure. Aickman was the team barometer and he was completely calm, joking with the family, putting on a big show. Beyond him Gibbs was the team worrywartùReverends tend to be like that, I guessùand even he didnÆt seem too apprehensive. IÆd get around to setting up anything I might need later; right now I could afford to try and strike up a quick conversation.
Being a necromancer by trade or by talent means you get to know a lot about spirits and the like. Most of this knowledge is intuitive, learned the hard, stumbling way over years upon years. The upside is that very quickly, finding and drawing in nonphysical entities becomesà well, second nature. Like learning to listen to one voice in a crowded room, or keep your eyes on one line of print in a book.
So youÆll understand, at least a little anyway, when I say that I had no qualms about sitting right down against the nearest wall, opening my mind to the house and hiking up my shirt in the back to press my bare skin against the drywall. ThereÆs very little risk in that.
Hmm.
I closed my eyes, half-asleep in a way. A girlà she had a bright orange shirt, cocoa brown skin. Denim shorts that just passed her knees, yellow flip-flops with sequins. She gave me a nervous grin and I smiled back.
She hadnÆt died hereà sheÆd lived. Now the only question was why sheÆd left this part of herself behind. Obviously, she wasnÆt very unhappyà this child here had lived in this house until the day that her heyday had ended when the person had grown up.
Usually, people keep their inner child with them, locked away inside, or sometimes just below the surface. Trauma, or simply a personÆs disposition sometimes, can cause them to be left behind. More likely itÆs trauma. So what had happened? Bullying, divorceà
Tall dark and decomposing. I gulped and shuddered at the sudden appearance, and cringed when he put his hand against the girlÆs shoulder. She looked up at himùblackened skin, dripping exposed sinew and allùand smiled a sunny smile, beginning to chatter to him in words I couldnÆt make out, could barely hear. Sound was never my strong suit; IÆm a visual person. He picked her up on his lap, held her close, hugged her and took a deep breath of her hair. HeÆd obviously died here. They shared some connection.
He stroked her back, his hands seeming so large against her thin young frame. He eased her shirt off. I bit my lip and hoped there was something else going onà anything else, pleaseà
He covered her mouth in a kiss when she whimpered and when he pulled away her lips were stained black. I choked on a gasp of anger and indignation, winced and broke the connection, standing and going to find Aickman. Angry, embarrassed, pained energy coursed through me. Ohh, this bastard would pay. He would pay dearly. I would drag him out of this house by his thumbs if I had to channel someone out of my depth to do it, box his ears good and hard, and shove him feet first into the next worldà hopefully one filled with fire and gnashing of teeth. Rrrgh. But first the rest of the team needed to know that we werenÆt just dealing with your garden variety poltergeist here.
I could have spoken to Gibbs about it, butàehh. He was having a good time so far and I hated to spoil it. Aickman lived for the chance to help tortured souls, so heÆd be happy, in a way, to hear about it. I found him in the kitchen, talking to the family: a girl, a boy, and their parents, plus a big black and white bird dog. The perfect familial unità sick bastard must be so pleased with those two little kidsà
ôAickman.ö
He tilted his head back and gave me a sidelong glance. ôJonah.ö
I sighed. ôGot a minuteà?ö
ôAll the time in the world,ö he smiled, turning back to the family. ôDid you need something?ö
ôAs a matter of fact,ö I muttered, tugging his sleeve until he got the hint and followed me with a derisive chuckle. ôThat I do. CÆmere.ö
ôSo impatientàö
ôYeah, yeah. We have a problem. The family canÆt sit in and they canÆt get a full story. They need to go.ö I explained as best I could, knowing that Aickman would eventually want more from me. It could wait. Hopefully, it could wait for a very long time. He nodded and rubbed his hands together thoughtfully as if massaging sore joints.
ôYes, I suppose. WeÆll try to get them set up with a hotel, but mainly they need to stay out of the house, eh?ö
ôIf at all possible.ö
He nodded. ôOkayà I think I can do that. Most importantly, at all costs, IÆd say we need the kids out of the house, right? TheyÆre the liability here. What IÆm seeing is that the kid had at least one adult on her sideà he found outà killed the man who was hurting herà but her inner child was dead already and trapped in these walls forever.ö
ôReal nice,ö I muttered, and Aickman shrugged. ôNow about the kidsàö I glanced back at them, bouncing around at the parentsÆ feet and making ôWoooooö ghost sounds. ôThey probably need to be occupiedà we could send them all to a movie or something.ö
ôBah. No. IÆm not paying for tickets.ö Aickman nodded decisively and led me back into the kitchen. ôAre you kids bored?ö
ôYeah!ö They chorused together, jumping up and down. ôCan we play with your fancy camera?ö
ôErà noà but you can play with Jonah here!ö He shoved me forward and I barely had time to kick him in the shin before I was at his armÆs length, staring down at a six-year-old girl and a three-year-old boy, both of whom stared right back up at me.
ôJonah is a boyÆs name,ö the girl informed me. I twitched.
ôI know, but my parents really wanted to name me that. They named me afterùö
ôI know! Jonah and the whale.ö
ôSplash,ö her brother chirped.
I had been going to say that they named me after a very powerful, manifestation-based medium of the 1920s whose life, and death, had been shrouded in mystery in his small hometown somewhere in Connecticut. But then again, looking down at these two kids, that would have been a bad idea. I nodded and turned back to Aickman, glaring murderously.
ôI hate kids and you know it,ö I hissed under my breath.
ôYou were the one who wanted them out of the house,ö he shrugged, adjusting his old granny glasses. ôAnd besides, we wonÆt be needing you anywayùö
ôYes you will!ö
ôYou are not going to run yourself into the ground, Jonah. Matt or myself will take over for you tonight.ö
ôMatt.ö
ôMatt.ö
ôIÆm gonna kill himùö
ôNow, now. You need to be looking out for yourselfà besides, Matt is better at this than you give him credit for.ö
ôHeÆs a puppy!ö
ôSays the 22-year-old necromance.ö
ôDemonologist.ö
ôOh, like fun you are.ö He sighed. ôNow come onà you wanted justice, did you not? And justice, Jonah mÆdear, is just a matter of keeping things in balance, is it not? ItÆs not always so much punishing the offender, as it is making sure the victim makes a full recoveryà donÆt you agree?ö
ôYeah. Balance. WhatÆs your point?ö
ôMy point is that these kids have been through hell. Young children compartmentalize and ignore easily, but theyÆve been frightened, theyÆve been hurtà who knows how badlyàö
I winced and lowered my gaze.
ôAnd now people are coming in and stirring up their nightmares, making them real, assuring them that it wasnÆt just a bad dreamà come on, now, thatÆs not justice. They arenÆt making a full recovery. TheyÆre getting the short end of the stickà donÆt they deserve, at the least, a game of hide and seek?ö
ôàFine. One game.ö
ôCan we play Follow the Leader too?ö
ôIùö
ôRacinÆ too?ö
ôEràö
ôGo on, you three. Outside. LetÆs go!ö Aickman grinned and herded us out through the back door into the large, clear yard. I sighed.
ôOkayà what do we play first?ö
ôWe can play Follow the Leader. IÆm the leader.ö The girl drew herself up, dark blonde hair streaming in a gentle breeze. My own thick, chocolate brown bangs fell into my face and I twitched. Little Miss Boss Lady alreadyà oh wellà I lined up behind her brother, marching like she did with my knees coming up as high as they would. Maybe this wouldnÆt be so hardà
And after allùspin, bow, cartwheel, spin, walk in a zig-zag lineùthis was, in a way, the justice that we couldnÆt otherwise give. Someone else could take care of the ghosts and the energies. If Matt had some kind of an accident, well, who better to help him recover? And thinking about his short blonde hair soaked with sweat, his warm skin under my hands as I worked on himà his half-open pretty grey/blue eyes, short delicate lashes fluttering, and a deep crimson stain to his pale lipsà his thin frame lying limp across my stretched out legs, those long legs of his sprawled wide and his shoulders against my hipsà
Hmmmmmà
ôYou missed a step!ö
ôIùeh?ö
The girl smirked at me. ôYou missed a step. But itÆs okay, so did Bubba.ö I sighed and followed them again. Airplane arms, stomp around like an angry person, walk like a sleepwalker or zombie. Handstand, splits, kneel, tuck and rollà jeez, what a workout. IÆd forgotten that kids have that boundless energyà
ôLetÆs race now, okay?ö
Rightà boundless energy. Then again, a perfect summer evening like this was too good not to waste. I was having some fun, in an odd sort of way. Sighing, I nodded and stretched. ôSure. Where do we race to?ö
ôWe do car racinÆ! TrackÆs round,ö the younger one said proudly. I glanced down at his shirt, which featured a CGI red racecar and the words, ôKa-Chow!ö Okay. Car racing. Fine.
ôHow many lapsà?ö
ôI dunno,ö he grinned. ôReadysteadygo!ö
Sometime later, we all collapsed into the grass, panting. The kids jumped back up after a second but I stayed down, nursing a huge stitch in my side. The youngest, a boy who resembled his sister but with lighter hair and sun freckles, grinned and whooped.
ôI win, I win!ö
They were so happyà
Good lord, though, this was painful. Not in the same way the aftermath of a sÚance could be painfulùsoreness, hot, stabbing pains when your nerves misfired in the calamity, the pain caused by manifesting ectoplasmùIÆve never understood why any medium in their right mind would want that, and for a more powerful worker like a necromance itÆs more of an unfortunate side effect. Probably a very good explanation of why the majority of its use in the media was as fake as a movie starÆs smile.
This wasà a very different pain, very real somehow, a localized ache in several areas. ItÆd been a while since a lot of pain had been dealt by the physical worldà I needed to learn to bear it. The kids were happy and they werenÆt worried as much, and the sun was setting. Soon the parents would come to get them, and I could go back inside and help out with the observation, the eletromag readings, the sÚanceà if they hadnÆt already given my spot to Matt. Bah, that kid has no idea what heÆs getting into.
ôLetÆs play racing again!ö
ôLetÆs play tag!ö
ôYeah, and Simon Says and Leapfrog and Hide and Seek and Rocket Shipàö
ôYeah yeah! But first we play tag.ö
ôTag!ö
I felt the grass under me, nice and soft, and considered requesting that they not make me get up. Butà they deserved thisà this justice.
A small hand touched me and a high voice shouted, ôYouÆre it!ö
I stood and winced, put another cough drop in my mouth. Justice in its more gentle and fated form was still justice, even if it was a bit tricky to administer, and it healed rather than caused more pain and suffering. It was just as important, maybe more so, as the justice IÆd been itching to deliver hours before.
Howeverà
ôHave you kids ever played the Quiet Game?ö
Even justice has its limits.
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