Bright Star (15 page)

“Why wouldn’t I?” Jackson threw back sarcastically. “Look at the name you chose for yourself.”

“I didn’t choose it,” she said catching him off guard.

“What?”

“I didn’t choose Bright Star as my name. Your brother gave it to me,” she paused and looked up again at the blank space where a twinkling star ought to have been. “I won’t refuse or disrespect any of his gifts.” She shook her head. “Not like you have.”

“What do you mean?”

“Just what I said,” she returned with a spark in her muted eyes. There was a confidence about her that came whenever she spoke of Rush. There was a defiance and devotion that Jackson wanted only to smash.

“He doesn’t love you,” Jackson declared stonily. He wanted to break her heart.

“He doesn’t have to,” was her stoic answer. Then, “I’d like to get this over with. Lead me to your doctor.”

Jackson did take her then, down to the sixteenth floor. He led her to Dr. Sandoval’s office, hesitating as she slowed down in a hallway of locked rooms.

“Patients,” Jackson explained.

Bright Star nodded. Outside of one of the rooms, she paused, clutching the pebble tight in her hands. It was a soft hesitation Jackson barely noticed as he pulled her into an office.

Hiding Knives

Jackson had never spent New Year’s Eve hiding knives before. He didn’t really care for the fact that he was doing it this year.
And
he wasn’t just hiding the knives. Cleaning agents. Flammables. Aerosols. Small solid objects and glass. They all had to go. He was also creating small suggestions on each item he touched to make them less noticeable…cosmically. They would stay where they were, but they would only exude a much minimized Energy, so as not to call attention to themselves. He’d finally learned the trick from Bright Star herself.

Granted, he knew there was no way to get rid of all risks. Still, he could certainly minimize as much as possible. Nearly a month wasn’t enough time to make him forget. She’d said it to him as plain as day: “It will happen. Just like New Year’s Day. It will happen.” Jackson hadn’t thought much of it then, but something about those words, or perhaps the way she said them played on his mind. She hadn’t tried to kill herself for weeks. She would try that night. He knew it. And Jackson was going to do whatever he could to stop her. Maybe if he managed to prevent her from doing this, just this once, she would give up all this nonsense about fate and destiny. Maybe she would just…stop.

“What you’re doing doesn’t make a whole lot of sense,” Rush admonished slowly. Caution marking his words, Rush watched his brother work through his bag of locks.

“You don’t want me to help her,” Jackson replied, continuing to sift through the metal loops. None of them seemed stronger than the ones he’d used when he tied her up. “I get that. But I won’t just stand by and watch her kill herself.”

Rush leaned forward. His forearms rested against the counter and he cradled his face in his hands.

“Don’t look at me like that.” Jackson raised a brow at him. “Don’t look at me like I’m your foolish little brother. You didn’t see her.”

“I did,” Rush contradicted softly.

“You weren’t there,” Jackson challenged.

“I didn’t have to be.” Rush sighed. “I saw her the first time when she tried to drown herself. I saw her lying on that roof, the blood bubbling up out of her mouth. I saw the beams of light shooting up like flares into the sky. I saw her use enough electricity to power the city to fry herself stuck to a wall in this kitchen. You should leave her alone.”

“Why?”

Rush answered that question with a question. “What did the good doctor say?”

Jackson ground his teeth together. He wouldn’t respond.

“Maybe you didn’t hear me,” Rush goaded him. “She’s seen Ronald—”

“Randall.”

“Dr. Sandoval six times since you had that conversation with her. Twice every week she goes. That’s the deal to keep her on the outside. If he’s working with her, what gives you the impression she will go through with this?”

“To be honest with you…” Jackson didn’t finish his sentence.

“To be honest with me?” Rush prodded.

Jackson rolled his eyes. “I don’t know why you even ask me questions.”

“Respect?” Rush’s response sounded more like a cheeky query.

“I don’t know where you got this new sense of humor from, but I hate it.”

Rush gave an easy chuckle. “Well, if you are inviting me to tell you what you’re thinking rather than ask you, I will. You think she’ll go through with it because Sandoval seems to think she’s as sane as the day is long. In fact, you’re worried that rather than influencing Bright Star to be normal, these sessions are working in the reverse. You think she’s influencing Sandoval to be a little crazy.” This last was said with a somber tone.

“I’m going to help her.” Jackson ignored his brother’s incredibly perceptive remark.

“She doesn’t want your help.”

“Well, she’s going to get it.”

“Maybe I should put it another way,” Rush stood and came round to look his brother in the eye. “You can’t help her. That doctor can’t help her. You don’t understand everything at work here. You don’t understand half of it.”

“And you won’t tell me,” Jackson pushed.

Sadly, Rush shook his head. Creases appeared around his mouth as he chewed his lower lip. “I can’t, Jacks. You’ll want me to do it. You’ll want me to fix everything, but I can’t help her either. If I interfere with the path. If I allow
you
to interfere with the path to save Bright Star, then—”

“Then what?”

“Then we’ll never get the real…”

“The real what?”

“I’m not who she thinks I am,” Jacob blurted in defeat. “I can’t talk about this now. I can’t.”

Jackson started to say something but thought the better of it. For now, he could leave it. He had something much more important to do.

There hadn’t been an episode in a month. Bright Star had been calm, lovely. She was always there when Jackson came home from work. She took care of everything… “That reminds me,” Jackson halted his hands for a moment. He was diverted by a question that had been nagging him since his memory was retrieved. “Do you have a job?”

Rush chuckled even though he’d been dead serious just a moment earlier. That was a funny question. He posed his answer in the form of a question. “Sort of?”

“What the hell does that mean?”

“It means I have a job. I get a paycheck direct deposited into my checking account every month. I pay taxes that are used to pay your salary. I pay my half of the rent and the utilities. I don’t pay the phone ‘cause I don’t use it.”

“But do you
go
to work?” Jackson persisted.

“No,” Rush answered with a lopsided, bashful grin that turned his dark and perpetually haunted face into a handsome, charming and almost sunny visage. Quickly, he was solemn again, his expression cloudy. “How did you manage to get her tied to the bed?”

Jackson had been trying not to think about that. One could think it had been too easy. “She didn’t fight me.”

Rush raised one eyebrow at that but said nothing about it. “How long will you keep her tied up?” he asked.

“As long as it takes to get her to stop doing this. She needs help, Rush.”

“I believe I told you that months ago when you brought her here but you didn’t care.” Rush reminded him. “I gave you an ultimatum that hasn’t really done the trick either. ‘Get her in counseling for as long as she stays here.’ But, she’s now seeing someone and making him just as crazy as she is. She barely leaves the house otherwise.”

“I gave up on Sandoval. I’m not stupid, no matter what you think. I started to go see someone for her. I’ve been—”

“Listen to yourself, Jackson. You can’t
go
to a shrink on behalf of someone else. And here’s a newsflash, she’s not getting any better. If she were, then she wouldn’t be tied up in her bedroom right now and you wouldn’t be hiding knives.”

“She hasn’t done anything in a long time.”

“You’re
hiding
knives!”

“She needs help but you know that people like us don’t do well with regular treatment.” Jackson didn’t like saying it, but he had to get his brother to see his point.

Rush grimaced at the reminder. “I know that as well as you do, but you can’t stop her from doing this. I ask you again: How long can you keep her locked up?”

Jackson didn’t answer. Instead he picked up his bag and started tucking knives into places he thought she wouldn’t look.

“How long?” Rush asked again.

“Until January second,” Jackson called over his shoulder as he left the room.

Rush followed him until he saw Jackson disappear into Bright Star’s bedroom. Rush could see her mentally. She was tied at her wrists and ankles with leather ties to locks made like metal rings that had been attached with posts to her bed. There were mittens on her hands and a mouth guard taped into her mouth. She was wearing her favorite white night gown and no shoes. Rush considered going in there but thought better of it. After all, what if it worked? It wasn’t going to… but what if it did?

*

Jackson removed his hammer and nails from the bag, he picked up a sheet of wood he’d brought that morning and started to board up the windows. He banged hard to make as much noise as possible. He wanted to think of the job, not the woman even though he knew she was trying to work the mouth guard out of her mouth.

Still, her muffled words reached him. He knew she was just trying to beg him to let her go. He knew he should ignore her and continue his work. All he had to do was make it twenty-four hours and thirteen minutes. It was only thirteen minutes to midnight. She was trying even harder to get the makeshift gag out of her mouth. He went over and sat beside her on the bed. Slowly, trying not to hurt her, he pulled the plastic from her skin and the guard from her mouth.

“Jackson,” she called. Her voice was a soft, plaintive stream. A lost child calling to a parent to save her. “It’s time now. Untie me.”

He shook his head and turned away. He wouldn’t look at her. He knew that if he did, he would be lost.

“Jackson,” she called again. Her voice caressed his arms, his back, his neck. He still didn’t turn around. Instead, he stood and went back to work. He banged louder with his hammer as he covered the windows in plywood. After he finished one, he worked on another. He continued until he realized that he had used eight sheets of the plywood that had been cut specifically to fit the windows, and she had only three windows. He turned then hurled the hammer… at the door. He watched her whole body jump satisfyingly. At least her reflexes still recognized danger. His jaw clenched and his breathing labored as he watched her.

“My hands hurt,” she said softly. At that, Jackson turned around. Like a milky moon on a foggy night, she radiated a dark light barely discernable from the rest of the room, though her eyes still sparkled indigo. “My hands hurt,” she repeated.

He neared her. He really couldn’t help it, and reached up to massage the ties loose on her hands. Just a little. She wouldn’t be able to slip out of them if he loosened them a little bit.

But no. He shook his head. He resisted what he knew logically had been a suggestion. He withdrew.

“Untie me, Jackson,” she ordered gently.