Touching Smoke (16 page)

Isaiah sighed, eyes dark with regret. “I never wanted to tell you.”

“Tell me what?” My fear rang through the room, echoing like a bomb in my ears. “That I’m some superhuman hybrid that can kill the world with a thought? That I’m some genetically engineered monster created in a lab by a mad scientist with a God complex?”

“You’re not a monster!” The fire blazed hot behind his snarl.

I choked out a bitter laugh, the sound coming pathetic and clogged with tears. “No? Then what am I, Isaiah? Because evidently, I’m not human either!”

His face seemed to soften, as did his tone when he answered, “You’re perfect.”

I turned away from the truth glowing in his eyes. “Perfect for what? Being some weapon of mass destruction?” I swiped at my tear-stained face with the back of my hand, hating my own weakness. “What are my special abilities, huh? Can I climb walls? Leap higher than the tallest building? Turn green when I get angry? Oh, I know, maybe I’m supposed to suck the world dry with my superhuman blood sucking abilities. What’s the deal with that anyway?”

Isaiah shook his head. “I don’t know.”

I barked a laugh. “Great, maybe I’m defective.”

“You’re not defective!” he muttered sharply. “Whatever your abilities are, they probably won’t manifest for another two days, if they haven’t already and you just didn’t notice them.”

“Trust me you’d be the first to know when I start shooting laser beams from my eyeballs.” I frowned. “What’s in two days?”

Now he looked confused. “Your birthday.”

I shook my head. “My birthday isn’t for another four months.” The muscles in his face twitched in a distinct wince. “Isn’t it?” I croaked, biting my bottom lip.

His sigh rippled in the air. “Your mother gave you that birthday when she went on the run with you.”

It was a wonder I made it across the room to the cot without my legs giving out on me. I sank onto the lumpy mattress gratefully.

“You called her Diana.”

“That was her real name.”

My head dropped forward. “She never told me.”

“She was trying to protect you.”

I raised my eyes to his face. “Is my name still Fallon Braeden?”

He was watching me as if he expected me to fall apart at any moment. True that it was a possibility, but I wanted answers first. Besides, emotional breakdowns required energy, something I was seriously lacking just then.

“Reaghan,” he murmured at last “Your mom changed your name and birth date to keep you from being found.”

A lot of good that did, I wanted to say, but decided against it; I was still reeling with the fact that all this was real and not some movie. I had no idea what I was supposed to do now but ask more questions.

“Is Reaghan my father’s name?”

“Dr. Ashton Reaghan.”

Fallon Reaghan… I guessed it could have been worse. It certainly explained why I could never find my father’s name under Braeden.

“My dad’s a doctor?”

There was pride shining in his eyes. “One of the best.”

I ignored the stab of resentment. “Not like Garrison though, right?”

He shook his head. “Nothing like Garrison.”

That was a small relief.

“What about you?” I stared into his eyes. “What does any of this have to do with you?”

In that moment, the solid, cast-iron wall slammed down between us. I was given a view of his back as he faced the window. “I can’t.”

“You have to!” My outrage lanced through the room. “After everything we’ve been through… I bit you for God sakes! I think that—”

He put up a hand to stop my rant. “No, I mean I really
can’t,”
he turned on his heel, his head still down as if he were ashamed of what he was about to tell me next. “Because I don’t know anything about myself.”

My eyes widened. “What?”

His boots scuffed across the hardwood as he closed the distance between us and sat on the cot beside me. The springs squealed their protest at the added weight. The cot drooped, but held.

He spoke to his knees. His hair formed a curtain between us.

“Ashton rescued me. He took me out of that place, but I don’t know anything before that moment,” he peered into my eyes. “Your father gave me a home, took care of me when I had no one,” he touched his left arm, just where I knew that tattoo lay. “I owe him everything.”

“Did he give you the markings?”

Isaiah’s head came up and turned to me, confusion painting his face. “What?”

I pointed to the spot he kept unconsciously rubbing. “The tattoo. Did Ashton—”

“No!” the single word vibrated with outrage, with insult. “Aston would never…!” he inhaled sharply through his nostrils. “I had it before he took me away. I don’t know what it’s for.”

“What does it say?”

He hesitated. His knuckles blazed white snow where he gripped his upper arm. Gradually, he moved his hand, hooked his finger into the cap of his sleeve and lifted it.

“9241-12,” I read aloud. “Do you know what they stand for?”

He shoved the sleeve back down. “No.”

For a moment, I said nothing, but watched him smooth his hand over his sleeve again-and-again as if the sleeve just wasn’t covering enough. Gently, I rested my hand over his, stopping him.

“Hey,” I tipped my head to the side; just enough to peer under the silky fringes cover his face and meet his eyes. I smiled. “Maybe it’s better you don’t remember.”

He dropped my gaze. “Maybe.” The longing in his eyes wrenched me up inside. I hated being unable to protect him from the demons haunting him.

I squeezed his hand, wishing I could somehow suck the hurt from him into myself. “So, do you at least know how old you are?”

He shook his head. “Aston couldn’t figure it out either. Garrison is the only one who knows.”

A spark of realization struck me. “He did something to you! He must have erased your memories somehow,” I hesitated. “Is that possible?”

The muscles of his shoulders bunched into a shrug. “Sure. There are people who can get into your head, do all kinds of things to it, and make you think anything they want.”

“But why would he do that?” I wondered out loud.

“Just a part of their powers.”

I looked at him. “How do you know all this?”

“Ashton taught me. He wanted me to know everything I could for when I…” he trailed off.

“What?” I pressed.

He licked his lips. “For when I protect you.”

A second passed, then another before I found the sense to speak. “My dad knew this would happen to me?”

The muscle just beneath his left eye ticked in a wince. “I don’t know.”

“Isaiah!”

He sighed, sitting straight and tipping his head back to stare up at the rafters as if the answer lay there. “Look, I don’t know everything, okay? But I’ll tell you what I do know.” I waited. He ran a hand through his hair, ruffling the strands. “You were two when Ashton took me in. He—both your parents loved you so much. I wanted to hate you for that, but I couldn’t because Ashton and Dia—Erin always treated me like I was one of theirs, too. For a while, everything was great. We were… so…
happy,”
my throat clenched at the pain in that single word, “and then something happened…”

“What?” The word was barely a whisper leaving my lips.

He shook his head. “I don’t know, but Ashton was in a panic. I’d never seen him like that before. Diana was holding you, crying. I thought something was wrong with you. That you were hurt, but when I got close, she…” he trailed off. His hand bunched under mine, balling into fists. His face tightened.

“What?” I demanded more urgently, shaking him.

He refused to meet my eyes. “She told me to stay away. That it was all my fault. That Ashton should never have brought me into their lives. That I should have died.”

I gasped. “No! My mom would never say something like that!”

Piercing orbs of raw blue swung up to mine, hard. “They had their reasons, Fallon. I don’t hate Diana for that. I don’t blame her. She was right.”

“Stop it!” I shoved him. It didn’t do any good — he barely budged — but it almost felt good. My fingers knotted in his shirt sleeve. “Don’t say that! It’s not true.”

His fingers felt like ice as he settled his free hand over mine. “Like I said, I don’t know the whole story, only what Ashton told me after Diana left with you. Garrison wanted you and Diana didn’t want Ashton’s help keeping you protected. He didn’t know where she was going, but she would be alone with you, unguarded. It would have been only a matter of time before you were caught.”

“So he sent you,” I murmured, filling in the blanks.

He peered into my eyes. “He knew I would do anything to keep you safe.” I swallowed hard, tasting my heart. All words failed me. “Nothing has been, or ever will be, more important to me then you.”

“Why?”

One second, two, three and I wasn’t sure he would ever answer. Then, he said, “I don’t know.”

Not exactly what I wanted to hear, but what had I expected? A declaration of love? More than likely, it was obligation keeping him rooted to me.

“It’s not,” he said quietly. “It’s something so much stronger. I just can’t explain it.”

“I didn’t say anything!” I muttered, embarrassed.

“No,” the corner of his mouth jerked up, “but I could feel your disappointment.”

I scowled. “Shut up!” I licked my dry lips, cleared my throat and asked, “Why did Ashton rescue you?”

He shook his head, amusement gone. “I never asked. I don’t know very much about his operations—”

“Operations?” I interrupted.

“Yeah,” he said. “He has people inside Garrison’s lab who keep an eye on things and report back to him. It’s how Ashton rescues the kids who are still being held captive by Garrison. I know he’s broken quite a few of them out like he did me.”

“There are others?” I gasped.

“Thousands,” he answered.

Thousands! The sheer numbers were mind boggling.

“What is he doing with these kids?” He didn’t have to say it. He had that pained look on his face, the one he got every time he was required to remember something he couldn’t. I didn’t press him. “How did you know your name was Isaiah if you couldn’t remember anything?”

“Ashton,” he said simply. “He told me that was my name.” He abruptly straightened, head turning from side-to-side. For a split second, I stiffened, prepared for an attack. “It’s getting dark,” he said at last.

I chuckled softly. “Is
that
what happens when the sun goes down?” I teased, hoping to erase the sadness in his eyes. My heart ached at the sight of it, at the hunch in his proud shoulders.

The gentle nudge of his elbow into my side drew a chuckle from me. “We should get a fire started. This place isn’t exactly heat-friendly at night.”

“Start a fire where?” I asked.

He jerked a thumb over his shoulder towards the door. “I have a bin in the back. I’ll be right back.”

I watched him turn and walk towards the door.

“Isaiah?” He paused, glanced back. “How did you know?”

His brow arched questioningly. “Know what?”

I looked down at my fingers knotting in my lap. “Last night… even I didn’t… I’ve never… but you knew…”

“I don’t know,” he murmured, somehow knowing exactly what I was rambling on about.

I looked up at him. “You just
guessed?”

He shrugged. “Not really
guessed…
sometimes, I just… feel things with you, kind of like how I feel my own emotions. I always have.”

My eyes widened. “What do you mean?”

“Empathy,” he stuffed his hands into his pockets, fidgeting uncomfortably. “Sometimes when your emotions are at their highest I can…
connect
with you,” he explained, looking uncertain himself. “Like when you’re very angry, or sad, or happy, I can feel it… feel
you.
If the emotion is strong enough, I can sometimes hear you, too.”

I jaw slackened and my eyes bulged. “You can
hear me.
too? What does that mean?”

He rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. “Your thoughts,” he said finally, quickly.

“You can read my mind?” My squeak mangled with the squeal of springs when I lunged to my feet.

“Not all the time!” he said hurriedly. “Just when—”

“When my emotions are high, yeah, I got that!” I rubbed both hands over my burning face. “Talk about invasion of privacy! Geez!” I sighed, forcing myself to meet his eye again. “What else? You don’t have the ability to see through clothes, do you?”

He chuckled a little. “No, nothing
that
cool.”

“Perv.” I mumbled, feeling my lips twitch. “Anything else?”

He cleared his throat. “I’m also telepathic, which kind of goes with the mindreading.”

“Telepathic?”

“I can talk with you inside your head.”

“I knew it!” I jabbed my index finger at him accusingly. “I knew that little voice in my head sounded way too much like you to be a coincidence!”