Society Rules (24 page)

Okay, love. Keep
calm,
Jackson whispered into her thoughts,
and
go
to
him.
He’s
just
made
up
his
mind
 . . .

*     *     *

Jackson pulled his car up just past Indie’s house, and slid it carefully to the side of the road. His hands were shaking, and the fury in him was stoked to an all-time high.

What
would
be
so
wrong,
he ranted silently,
about
just
kicking
the
door
into
toothpicks,
snatching
up
Indie
and
her
children,
and
taking
off
with
them?

The man in that house was about to drive a virtual stake through the heart of the one he loved.

But
I
can
stop
this
 . . .
I
could
get
them
all
out
of
there
to
a
safe
place.

He would just love to see Will try to stop him.

Oh yes, he
really
would.

Jackson tried not to sigh with contentment as he visualized himself relieving the man of the burden of his head, and any other body parts that he could easily rip away.

He came back with a jolt.

That was sick. Sick and unprecedented.

As Jackson perched on the rear bumper of his car, there was not a single outward indicator that such violent ideas were joyfully tango-ing through his mind. His face held all the serenity that he knew he was supposed to be feeling on the inside.

I
can
control
it.
I
can
be
strong
 . . .

He chanted his mantra, and swallowed a deep gulp of remorse.

The Elders knew best, obviously. How dare he even flirt with the notion of insubordination?

What made the whole thing that much more difficult, was the fact that Jackson was well aware of another factor in this unfolding drama.

The right to act of his own volition. The Elders would not move against him. He would simply have to endure the repercussions of altering someone’s destiny.

Sometimes, the repercussions were not so bad.

And sometimes they were unthinkable.

Jackson decided that he did not have the gumption to spin that roulette wheel.

He remained seated, motionless now, listening and waiting for the moment he knew was coming. He would be there for Indie immediately. For now, all he could do was wait for her heart to be broken, and then do his best to mend it for her.

*     *     *

Indie climbed out of bed, and made her way down the hallway, listening for any sound coming from the office. She could hear the hum of the computer, and a scratching sound.

Pen on paper, perhaps? She tapped on the door, hesitantly.

No answer. The feeling of unease intensified. She tapped again, a little louder. Still no response. Slowly, she pushed open the door.

Indie found Will slouched in his chair, legs straight out in front of him in the cramped room, nearly disappearing under the twin bed that rested against the far wall. His arm was thrown carelessly onto the small oak computer desk.

With a pen in his hand, Will made swirling patterns on a notebook with no conscious thought.

He looked lost.

Indie pushed the door open wider, and then stepped inside. Will kept his eyes on the deep blood-red dust ruffle that encircled the base of the guest bed.

“Will . . . ?” she began, uncertainly. He slowly raised his eyes to hers. His expression was one of disbelief. Like he’d been told that a loved one, while just leaving his house, had died at the end of his street. Indie had expected him to be upset; confused even, but something here was all wrong. She could feel it.

He spoke lazily.

“What’s up Indie, can’t sleep?” There was a strange edge to his words, though he spoke softly. He didn’t sound like anyone she knew. The voice was too cold . . . professionally detached.

“Well, no. Not really,” she answered, confused.

Without moving, and in the same soft, disembodied voice, Will asked, “How
do
you sleep at night, Indie?”

She didn’t know what to say to that. Did he want her to confess that her guilt would forever keep her up nights?

Okay. She felt guilty.

Mission accomplished.

Will watched her face as these thoughts scrolled through her head.

“It wasn’t a rhetorical question. I mean, do you sleep okay at night?” She shrugged. “Okay enough, I guess.”

“Really?” He spun his body around suddenly to face her, and looked at her with weary, but steady eyes. “Do you
really
, Indie?” he repeated.

A sense of unease began to build in her belly. What was he asking? It was becoming clear that this was not a random question. Will was not making polite conversation, she knew. He seemed to be on a mission.

“What exactly
are
you asking me, Will?” Indie crossed her arms, and looked back at him, trying her best to be strong . . . to hide the fear.

Will began a slow, hypnotic rocking back and forth in his chair, never taking his eyes off of her.

“Not a good subject?” He moved so that both hands were in front of him, and he held the pen between them, as though he were about to pull it apart, but his face was calm.

“Okay,” he said, in the same soft conversational voice. “Let’s talk about something else. Tell me more about this guy that you fell in love with at first
touch
!”

Indie didn’t miss his inflection on the word “touch”, and she winced. “Will . . . don’t,” Indie began.

“Oh yeah, I
really
want to know.” Will’s voice lost a little of the emotionless void he’d created. The anger seeped through his words, but he quickly contained them, and pulled back into neutral territory. “What’s he like, Indie? Is he tall, dark and handsome?”

Yes, well, that did just about sum him up, didn’t it? She shook her head.

“Just
stop
it, William!”

“What kind of work does he do? Where does he live? What kind of car does he drive? I think I have a right to know these things about a guy who may eventually become my children’s stepfather, don’t I?”

He was peppering her with his queries, and suddenly, Indie felt very foolish. It seemed as though Will knew that she didn’t have the answers to these very basic questions; and the stepfather idea, well, that had not crossed her mind at all. She just had not thought that far yet.

“Let
us
take
one
thing
at
a
time,
my
love,”
Jackson had said to her, and she was taking this to heart.

“I don’t feel comfortable talking to you about this, Will.” Indie’s arms found themselves wrapped tightly around her belly again. “I don’t even feel comfortable thinking about it right now.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry. I don’t want to make
you
feel uncomfortable!” His tone was solicitous. Will’s eyes had still not left hers, and his focus was disconcerting. Indie shifted her own eyes to his computer, just to break the contact.

She noticed then, that on his computer screen was a very close photograph of her face. Her eyes were closed in the picture, and she realized that this picture had been taken very recently. Like, maybe earlier this evening, when she had heard the strange clicking noises when Will had come into the bedroom.

Indie moved toward the screen, and bent to examine it more closely.

Will swiveled around in his chair, as if to keep her right in front of him, still focusing on her intently. Indie glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, having gotten a strange but fleeting impression that Will did not want to turn his back to her because . . . because he was
afraid
to do so.

She shrugged off this ridiculous notion. What on earth could Will have to fear from
her
?

Uneasily, she returned to her image on the screen. Surrounding her picture was a complicated series of graphs, indecipherable to her.

“You’ve always been so pretty.” Will spoke suddenly, watching her expression. “But you look too young, though. I’ve been noticing lately, that people are looking at me all disapprovingly when we’re together. They can’t decide if I’ve robbed the cradle, or if you are my kid!”

He laughed, harshly. “Wouldn’t everyone be surprised to know that
you
are actually the cradle robber?

“I had almost decided that I was going to have to get a tattoo, or maybe have a special t-shirt made to wear when I was with you, running a disclaimer; ‘she’s the old one, really’!” His mouth smiled, but his eyes remained serious.

Focused.

“So, how old is your boyfriend?”

Indie groaned inwardly. Will was not giving up.

“Forty,” she clipped out, crossing her arms again.

Her sympathy for him was waning, in light of his obvious determination to back her into some kind of corner. If he wanted to hear it, then fine. She was all in.

“Forty?” His eyes widened in mock disbelief. “Hell, he must look like your
dad
 . . . maybe even your grandfather!”

Indie searched Will’s face. He was building up to something, she was certain. However, he couldn’t know about the Society Member thing, so what could it be?

“No, actually. He looks . . . like I do. Pretty youthful, I would say”. “Really? That’s a little unusual, don’t you think?” Will asked, innocently.

“No, I don’t!” She was starting to get frustrated. Did he really think she was such an anomaly?

A freak?

“Plenty of people look young for their years . . . it’s not so odd!”

“When’s his birthday?” he asked, sharply.

“
What?”
Indie sucked in her breath.

Now she was beyond uneasy. She was slipping into terror.

“Why . . . why would you ask me
that
?”

“When was he born, Indie?’ His voice was softer now than it had been since she had come in, but he had a command in it that was compelling her to answer his questions.

“June 26th, 1968,” she sighed.

“Wow,” he responded, but obviously unsurprised. “Now why
does
that sound so familiar?”

She stared back at Will, and his eyes tightened on her face. Indie gasped as the realization hit her.

It was so obvious now. Why hadn’t she caught on more quickly? Will wasn’t playing games.

She was being interrogated, and by a master. Every question he asked was the foundation of a wall being built, her answers the mortar.

And every subject was carefully thought out, in order to flow to the next. Everything from his casual tone, calm manner, and nonchalant body language was a ruse. Here she had been thinking that this was just to get a little revenge for today . . . a chance to hurt her back and make her feel guilty and uncomfortable.

No, this was something much, much more. Indie’s alarms earlier in the night had been correct.

Danger.

Her eyes remained frozen on his impassive face.

“Does he
‘complete’
you, Indie? Is he your perfect . . .
specimen
of a man?” Will’s voice was heavy with sarcasm.