KNOW, page 6
"No one is safe around me," said Clyde with absolute conviction. "Stay back. Don't touch me!" It didn't seem like he was afraid of being touched; more that he was afraid for us if we touched him.
I got a funny feeling down the back of my spine. There was no time to focus on it. "Jem, danger?" I asked.
"We are. He's in more. Clyde, we need to get you out of here. Away. They've — someone is after you, and you're not safe here anymore. Please trust us. Let us get you somewhere safe."
He looked at us helplessly, then past us at the older man.
"I don't know how they found you," said the old man helplessly. His voice broke. "Please don't hurt him. He's a good boy. He's just...different. He never hurt anyone on purpose."
Clyde looked as though he was going to start crying or shouting at any moment. His face was growing slowly red.
"Please," said Jem, looking at him, speaking quietly and sincerely. "I think this is right. My power is to know certain things some of the time — the odds. The odds of you surviving without hurting anyone, if you stay here, are one percent. Please come with us."
"Wh-what are the odds if I go with you?" asked Clyde in a fascinated voice, staring at Jem.
"Eighty-five point four. But we have to go now. The odds keep going down!"
That got him moving. Clyde leaped up off his cot — it creaked — and reached for something from the bookshelf. It was a battered wallet; he shoved it into his pocket and said, "Okay." He grabbed a tattered leather jacket off the end of the cot as we left the room, and pulled it on. His jaw was jumping as if he was shivering from the cold — or extreme fear.
"Who's after him?" I asked Jem tightly as we headed back out. "Can you tell?"
Jem started to shake his head, but Clyde answered in his place.
"An international drug cartel. They want me for an assassin. They've been hunting me for three years."
"That's a long time," said Jem. "And they haven't caught you?"
"No. I had help from Walter, here."
"I'll show you the back way out," said the old man, apparently deciding to help us now that Clyde was going with us willingly. "It'll be safer. Come on!"
He beckoned us another way, and since Jem went without hesitation, I brought up the rear, gun now in hand, but with the safety still on. Jem glanced at it but said nothing.
That meant I might need it. He hated guns, and would always, always tell me to "put that thing away" if there was no need for one. Which meant I probably would need it today.
Great. Just great.
"How did they find me and you find me all in the same day? It's not realistic. Did you lead them here, or did they lead you?"
"We got a tip," said Jem. "From a man with talent. He said you were in trouble and needed us."
"He knows the future? Like you do?" Clyde seemed genuinely curious, even though he was supposed to be running for his life now and saving the questions for later.
"No, but he can tell people anything and they'll do it. He can hear thoughts. He may have heard yours from a distance and known you needed help, but more likely he heard some bad guys were looking for you, and figured out they were close. He's a good guy himself, trying to set things right, so it's highly likely, over sixty percent, that he was in contact with someone who knew about the hunt for you, and then he passed that information along to us. To Hugh here." He was talking a lot, and rather fast, which I took to mean he was nervous. "I'm Jem, by the way."
"I'm Clyde."
"I know."
"I can't hurt you if I don't touch you, but if I touch you, you could die. So, please, don't get too close."
That was why he was wearing the gloves, then. And why they wanted him as an assassin. That had to be pretty untraceable — the ability to kill with a single touch.
Clyde was probably at least as much of a mess emotionally as Jem had been, growing up with a power like that. I put aside that thought and concentrated on getting him safe.
"They tracked you down through...something," said Jem, using the thoughtful, halting tone he did when he was running the odds as he spoke. I knew him well enough to almost hear his internal dialogue now. Sometimes it was external dialogue, and it was both of us at once, going through questions, him finding the answers every time in the form of the odds. He was really damned good at his job.
Did they find him because of betrayal? No. Did they find him through an inadvertent trace he left behind? No. Did they find him through something he did recently? Yes.
Except the yeses and nos would be in the form of likely percentages, and he would steer away from the low ones, moving towards the high probabilities till he'd worked the answer down to what was most likely.
"You bought something?" he said in a questioning tone. "They found you through—"
"Gloves," said Clyde disgustingly. "I buy a lot of gloves. That's almost all I buy," he added in a choked voice.
"That's it," agreed Jem. "Something to do with the ones you bought, perhaps the size or style? Don't they hold up? Is that why you have to keep buying more?"
"Guys, if we could focus on getting away now and talk later," I said.
"Okay, Hugh," said Jem, and Clyde echoed it a moment later.
I shook my head. So submissive. I liked it better when we had the luxury of snarking and squabbling. At least that meant we were safe.
Walter was huffing and wheezing as he led us to the back exit. I didn't think we were even moving that fast, and my nerves screamed that he should be going faster.
Behind us, I heard the tiny bell tinkle. Someone had entered the shop.
I looked at Jem. He gave a faint nod. "It's them."
"Oh, dear," said Walter.
"You'd better come with us."
"No, I — I can hold them off."
"Walter—" began Clyde in a hopeless sort of voice.
I interrupted. "You don't need to sacrifice yourself. I'll look after you all."
The old man stopped arguing and seemed relieved, although whether he agreed or was just out of breath, I wasn't certain.
"Here," he said at last, and we stopped at a large, industrial sort of door. It looked like a place where trucks had once backed up to unload things. Perhaps lots of shitty books.
He fumbled with the cheap lock, then the deadbolt. Clyde reached forward and helped him. In a moment, we were all outside and moving fast. Well, not "fast," exactly.
"Jem, call it in," I ordered.
He nodded quickly and reached for his cell phone. The folks back at HQ could coordinate with the police or the FBI to send someone here and look into whoever was after Jem. We didn't have everything on a platter to give them, but we had enough that they should jump at the chance. The folks at HQ had the connections to make it happen better than we did, on the run.
Jem made his brief report in a remarkably steady voice, despite our hurrying along. We were all, even Walter, very careful not to touch Clyde.
As soon as we were out among civilians, I put my gun away. I shepherded the others towards the street, offering Walter my arm when he looked weary. He shook his head, but the second time I offered, he accepted. He really was looking winded, poor guy. How he could breathe among all those books, I didn't know. But he certainly wasn't doing well.
Clyde hunched in on himself as he walked, and looked about an inch away from having a panic attack. It appeared to be agony for him, being out around people — terrifying because he didn't know when someone might accidentally touch him. Was it just his hands, or any exposed skin contact? Did he have any control over it at all? He was still fairly young, and many people never learned any control over their abilities on their own. He could easily have a bright and far more normal future ahead of him if we got him some help.
Martin had done a good thing, helping us find him.
When it became more crowded on the street, we found it was easier to sort of surround Clyde, me in the front, Jem and Walter on either side of him, not too close. Anyone who got near him would only do so if they got past us.
Jem managed to flag down the third cab that passed us, with surprising speed. He'd been running odds, no doubt, to tell him just when to step forward, whistle, and raise a hand. He did it with such confidence.
We piled into the cab, I asked to be taken to our hotel, and Jem called HQ. Walter was breathing hard from being worn out, and Clyde was looking decidedly freaked out, but we were all in one piece, and escaping had actually been a snap. That's how things are with Jem.
Clyde and Walter would stay with us in the big double suite we'd booked for our stay here. At least until we got this cleaned up and Walter could go home. We also had to get Clyde to agree to protection and training from the ESRB. I didn't think it would be hard at this point, with the mob or whoever was after him, but I've been wrong before.
After we got inside, and the doors were safely locked, I mentioned my concerns about Walter's health.
"Are you okay? Do you need medical attention?" If he died on us, when he shouldn't have been involved in the first place...
"No, no. I just need to rest. Maybe some water."
"You need to eat," said Clyde. He surveyed the old man with a practiced, concerned eye. "You definitely need to eat."
"We'll order room service," said Jem smoothly. "What are you guys hungry for?"
I left them to sort that out and moved somewhere quiet to call in my report to Upchurch. I kept things succinct, and so did she. Everything was on track, and the local agencies were moving fast.
"They've got a bead on three men at the bookstore, and at least one of them is wanted for several crimes. Keep Doomer safe, bring him in as soon as possible, and if it's all gone well, you two can have a couple of days off. Take care of them."
We hung up as Jem and our guests finally decided on what food to order.
"What are you getting?" I asked.
Jem glanced at me, and I saw from the slight compression of his mouth that there was something he wanted to tell me, but also didn't want to tell me.
"Jem?" I drew him aside with a light hand on his elbow. "What's up?" I asked in a lower voice.
"Don't make that old man go to the hospital," he said.
"What? I wasn't going to."
"You were thinking about it." He eyed me sternly.
He was right; I had been. But since when was that a crime? "I thought, after everything's secure, he should get checked out, of course—"
"Don't. I've been running the odds. If he goes in, there's a high chance they'll run a lot of expensive tests. He doesn't have insurance coverage and would be in debt over ten thousand dollars, with no actual improvement to his health. Debt on that scale, when his business is already doing so poorly, will probably be enough to kill him from stress."
"Hey, you vouch for him being okay, and that's the end of it. I promise."
"He's not okay, but he will be if he gets something to eat and some rest."
"Okay. We'll make that happen." I gave him a light clap on the shoulder. "Thanks, Jem."
"Don't mention it," he said, moving away from my touch.
We made it happen.
Sitting on the big double bed in my room, cross-legged, I entertained our guests with tales of our outrageous deeds and Jem's Hail Marys. "This guy..." I gestured with my fork, mouth still partially full. "This guy here is a legend. Everybody wishes they could work with him, because he gets shit done."
Jem ducked his head, looking flustered.
"They do," I assured him.
"Have you been drinking?" he muttered. He hadn't eaten much of his lasagna. More for me, then.
Our guests were entertained by the banter, and that was the important thing right now. Clyde had been so nervous when we first got here that he'd looked like he might pop like an overstuffed tick, and now he'd actually cracked a smile or two, and he'd eaten quite a lot, as well. Walter was looking far less gray and a lot calmer than he had. He'd actually belly-laughed once.
He looked a little tired, though, so I suggested he take Jem's room and get some sleep. "I'm sure they'll clear you to go home soon, but let's not take any risks yet, okay?"
He agreed with a speed that told me he really was tired.
Jem looked at me, then darted his eyes towards Clyde. He rose and followed the old man. "Let me show you where everything is," he said smoothly.
"Thank you, young fellow. Say, that's quite the talent you have."
Okay, so Jem wanted me to talk to Clyde. Did he think I'd get through to him when he wouldn't? Why? Jem clearly had more of a connection with Doomer.
"Do you think you can stand to accompany us back to ESRB HQ for training and protection?" I asked him, my voice low and serious. "I really think you could learn to be much safer with your talent if you do. I think you can find some meaning, purpose, and happiness, and not have to spend the rest of your life hiding."
He snorted. "And do what? Assassinate people? No, thanks. I don't want to be a killer."
"There's no saying that that's all your talent is good for. A lot of people don't learn what they can do without some training. Maybe you have the power to heal, too, or something else — something that goes with this and would be more useful to you and less scary."
I leaned forward, meeting his gaze seriously. "But, Clyde, even if this is it, even if this is all you get, if you can learn to use it at will, turn it off and on, and not accidentally hurt anybody. You can have a happy, full life. Get married. Hold down a job. Not have to hide. These guys who are after you?" I waved a hand. "That's done. We can and will protect you from that bullshit from now on. It's going to happen. So, now you need to start planning your happy ending. Do you want to get some training, see what you can do, and make it happen? Or do you want to keep hiding and pretending that's going to be enough — pretending it doesn't scare the shit out of you, not knowing?"
Tears made his eyes gleam, large and liquid and oh-so-sad. "But what if they try to make me become an assassin?"
"Then say no. The ESRB is here to protect people like you, like Jem. He went through hell before he found his way to these guys. Can you imagine how many people wanted to use his talent — how many people did? But now he chooses. He doesn't have to do anything he doesn't want to with his talent. You know what he chooses to do with it? He helps people. He helps find and rescue people who need what the ESRB can provide. That's it. Nobody's pressuring him to predict the future for the army. Nobody's using him to help them win in Vegas. That's it. He's here, he's safe, and he's doing something good in the world."
Clyde sniffed and wiped at his eyes, but he didn't stop meeting my gaze. He gave a slow nod. "I think I'd like to try, then. But if worse comes to worse, and that's all I can do — ?"
"I firmly believe you'll learn to control it enough that you won't have to do anything — you'll get to choose. And maybe there is some good, non-military use for your gift, even if that's all you can do. Maybe you'll work as a vet tech and put down animals painlessly. It's not ideal, but it's still something. I think you'll find something. But I don't think killing is all you'll be able to do."
Clyde looked down at his hands and cautiously slipped off one glove. He held his hand up and turned it around, looking at it. He had an ordinary, rather pale hand. It was trembling slightly. "I — I gave up hoping for normal things. Do you think I'll ever be able to have a girlfriend? To touch someone?"
He looked at me with such naked, helpless want, my heart broke for him. How long had he been aching and wishing hopelessly for someone to love, only to believe it could never happen for him? That he would never be able to touch another human being without causing pain or death?
I looked him in the eye and said, "Yes, I think you'll be able to have a girlfriend. You seem like a great guy, Clyde. I've only known you a short time, but you're honorable, caring, and compassionate. You're not bad looking, either." I gave him a quick wink and a roguish grin. "And in case anybody forgot to tell you this, there are lots of girls with talents — lots. As many as guys. You will definitely meet some girls there, Clyde. And look at it this way: the benefit of dating someone else with talent? You don't have to wonder if they're going to think it's strange. It's just a fact of life there, something everyone is dealing with, despite differences in their talents. There is absolutely a girl out there for you — someone who will need, want, and love you, someone who will feel so lucky she got to meet you and love you." I gave him another wink. "You need to work on getting to that future. I believe in it for you."
Jem returned, closing the door quietly between the rooms. "Hey, guys, how's it going?" he asked in a soft voice. His eyes, when they met mine, were very warm and proud indeed, gentle and holding a kind of soft tenderness.
"It's good," said Clyde, sounding choked. "Uh — excuse me. Gotta pee." He headed for the bathroom, head down, probably trying not to cry in front of us.
I gazed after him worriedly. "Did I lay it on too thick?" I wondered aloud.
"Just thick enough." Jem sat down next to me, put an arm around my back, and laid his head on my shoulder. I blinked in surprise but didn't move away. He gave a little sigh. "He's definitely decided to come back with us. You did it. And in under ten minutes, too." He made a sound of mingled disbelief and approval in his throat.
"Why the sudden friendliness?" I asked. I put my arm around him, too, not about to miss out on a good thing.
"I realized that maybe I have to make the first move before you'll be comfortable. You know, Hugh, I don't particularly want to date another guy with talent. I think I'd be happier with you."
I closed my eyes and breathed, trying to savor this moment and not ruin it. It felt so good to have him resting against me like this, our arms around each other's backs. "Really?" I asked, my voice sounding a lot less certain than I like it to. I sounded almost scared.
"Really," said Jem, and then he raised his head and softly kissed my cheek.
For the first time all day, I was completely speechless.
I felt like I was trembling, although I couldn't tell if I was or not. It was unlike me to be so lacking in suavity. I was normally the cool, relaxed one. But one cute guy leaning against me — okay, not just any guy; Jem — and suddenly I was coming undone.
