Bright Star Read online

  Lyrical Press, Incorporated

  Bright Star

  ISBN: 978-0-9818905-8-6

  Copyright © 2008 Grayson Reyes-Cole

  Edited by Dawn Steffanich and Emma Wayne Porter

  Book design by Emma Wayne Porter and Renee Rocco

  Cover Art by Renee Rocco

  Lyrical Press, Incorporated

  17 Ludlow Street

  Staten Island, New York 10312

  http://www.lyricalpress.com

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  PUBLISHER’S NOTE:

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party Web sites or their content.

  Published in the United States of America by Lyrical Press, Incorporated

  First Lyrical Press, Inc. electronic publication: October, 2008

  Bright Star

  by Grayson Reyes-Cole

  Dedication

  I’d like to thank my mother for teaching me to read, how to write with a fat pencil, and for reading mounds and mounds of science books when I couldn’t be convinced to. I’d also like to thank my friends and extended family for all the support.

  Saving: The Curse

  Jacob Rush listened to the rasping, uneven breath of the skinny, wet and almost dead girl stretched out before him. He watched the girl continue to wheeze in a high-pitched plea. Her chest continued to convulse.

  She should have been dead. She was dead. And then she wasn’t.

  Jacob rocked back on his knees, coming to rest on his calves. Steam rolled off his heated body. He couldn’t focus his eyes. When he tried, the sweat dripped down into them, stinging and blinding him. Feeling around the cold cement in light cautious pats, his fingertips found the over-shirt he had stripped off after he’d dragged her from the fountain. Slowly, he raised it to his face. The shirt was cold relief.

  He inhaled deeply and then exhaled, watching his breath crystallize and dissipate as it floated away from him in the night. He had done this many times, and knew he would do it many more. Each time it happened, it seemed to squeeze his organs tighter, to crack and reshape his bones more and to make his muscles fold over themselves and redouble. It caused that trigger, that light deep within his brain to throb and grow.

  Jacob would have liked to believe it was his imagination, not his body, mind and Talent that were changing. He lied, telling himself that he had not really saved this girl. Something inside this girl had sped recovery after he’d pulled her out of the water, breathed down her throat, and pushed hard on her chest. Just performing CPR was something he could live with. But Jacob Rush knew the truth: he had done more than some rudimentary first aid technique.

  He waited, knowing that soon he would experience the cold. It hit him and stung, lashing out against him. For a long moment, he let the freezing fingers of nature claw at him, willing them to dig out his anxiety and fear. How many more times would he do this? How, in the end, would it change him? When would she come and demand this thing he gave freely?

  He put on the shirt. It was slightly warmer then, still heated from his face. Folding his arms and closing his eyes, Jacob Rush started to breathe slower, deeper. He started to leave this place. But before he could completely tuck himself away, a dry and low voice pulled at him. It sounded brittle, parched.

  “I’m still alive?” The girl rose up on her elbows and looked around. Her damp, lank brown hair clung to her forehead and neck, to her sallow and pointed shoulders.

  He’d seen her there—God knows how—still, eyes and mouth closed, at rest. Peace marked her. Completely under water, lying on the bottom of the fountain her body was pale, tinted a frigid blue and surrounded by yellow, red, and white mosaic. He’d pulled off his shirt and jumped over the lip of the pool in one motion. Then, he’d reached down and grabbed her dead weight. Her clothes, her hair, her skin all clung to the bottom so that he had to grapple with her flesh as he’d tried to peel her from the tiled bed. Her skin had become slippery like a peeled plum, and he’d lost his grip as her body attempted to adhere itself to the bottom again. But those eyes, submerged, brilliant and blue, had opened to pin him with a gaze of recognition.

  Ah.

  Sadly, finally, Jacob had recognized her. He’d been able to haul her out then, and save her.

  When he should have let her die.

  Jacob spotted her jacket in the fountain. It must have slid off when he dragged her out of the water. He pointed to the red, white, and gold striped material. Only a sleeve peeped from beneath a stone head and shoulder the size of a headstone.

  She noticed how intently he watched her. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

  “You almost died.”

  “What?” She sprang up and swung her head from side to side, sloshing water into the air. She blinked rapidly as she took in her surroundings. Her hands smoothed over her soaked torso. Then—Jacob could read that awkward expression anytime—she averted her gaze and rounded her shoulders in intense shame. Whatever recognition in her eyes earlier had been snuffed out.

  She sighed and slowly rolled to her feet. A distance opened between them when she moved away, cutting a slice into the ready intimacy of a life saved. She seemed agitated and would not meet his gaze. Jacob stood as well, but could not stop watching her.

  “Why were you in the fountain?” he asked. His voice was well modulated. His words didn’t sound like a demand. He hoped they didn’t sound as if the answer mattered to him.

  She started to answer. Her jaw worked. In the end, she managed to explain, “I was throwing coins in. I threw one in that belonged to my mother.” She chewed at chapped skin on her upper lip. Those eyes, she kept tilted downward.

  Jacob knew she did not want him to study her eyes or how startling and nearly illuminated they were. She also probably didn’t want him to know that she was lying, but Jacob knew. She continued, “I got in to look for it. Part of the statue must have fallen and hit me. I think I just panicked and slipped. I can’t swim anyway.”

  She had been lying on her back. Her arms had been folded carefully over her abdomen. Her legs had been straight as well. She had not looked like a girl who had slipped, yet Jacob said nothing.

  “I guess I’m thanking you for saving my life,” she finished, but it did not sound like appreciation. Her voice was small, tinny and false.

  Jacob Rush reached a hand out to touch the base of her skull. Her wet hair lay just over his knuckles. The wound was large and bloody and hot. It felt like an infection. She felt like an infection. Her blood gurgled over his fingers, seeped into his palm, and rode the veins in his arm, spreading through his circulatory system, getting into tissue, into cells. And then, the blood was gone. “How do you feel now?”

  Elizabeth placed a hand over the one cradling her head. She didn’t feel any pain. Outside or in. Jacob could tell. Her voluntary touch had let him inside of her. Just like that. She had become a part of him. The intimacy was back. Her thoughts mingled with his like threads in a tassel. Elizabeth was thinking then that for the first time in her life, she didn’t feel any p
ain. She wondered briefly if her heart would stop. For the first time in her life, she didn’t want to die.

  He let her go. “Aren’t you cold?” He asked in a voice too calm for reality. His eyes held hers, though they were clear and intense and offered nothing. He knew better than to show her too much compassion.

  She hesitated. No, she wasn’t cold. “Yes, I am.”

  “You need to change clothes.” But what did compassion matter? The poison was inside him now. His hands, his skin, his heart and brain, his blood, his breath, his Energy was the curse. There was nothing left for it. “Those are wet.”

  She looked down at the dingy white t-shirt and worn jeans that were pulling her downward, weighted by water. Her thoughts were murky and congealed, but Jacob Rush could pick them out with ease—He thinks I’m too skinny; He thinks I’m too dark. He thinks. I am dirty-obsessed-stained-removed crazy. He thinks my eyes and body and Energy curse him.

  Jacob knew she was hiding something. She rubbed at fine white scars on one forearm.

  She was barely audible when she answered. “Well, you’re right. I’m not usually around anywhere long enough to feel the cold.”

  He blinked. Even his vision was different now. It was as if his body was still putting out steam, and that was clouding his eyes, creating a hazy film he couldn’t completely penetrate. “I live near here. You can get something out of my brother’s room. You’re very thin. He’s broad, but he’s shorter than me and he might have something.”

  She said nothing, just inclined her head in acceptance. She didn’t think he had heard a word she’d said. At least he was still talking about clothes. She avoided his intense scrutiny and mumbled, “My name is Elizabeth.”

  “Jacob Rush. People call me Rush.” He took her small hand into one of his own, studying it. He shook it and let it fall softly to her side.

  “Were you alone?”

  She followed him away, walking as if her clothing were stiff. Jacob imagined her garments were near frozen. “I don’t know, I think so.” Jacob felt the jumble in her head. Her memory was screwed up again. Her veins felt as if they were swelling all through her body. She winced, wanting to cry. And why was that? She was afraid that she was going to have a vision. Again.

  “Why are you still here?” he asked, trying to get her attention, her focus.

  “What?” She was virtually perplexed, but he was treated for once to the crystal eyes.

  “Why are you still in town?” he clarified patiently. “I recognize you from the flyers. I saw them a while back.”

  “There was an accident about two months ago. I… I had to stay for awhile.” She shrugged and Jacob thought of the emaciated cat that had taken up residence in his room when he was twelve. It had come to die, just as she had. “Doesn’t matter, though. The guy who runs the gallery owns the condo, too. He wants me out.”

  His eyes darted into hers, sharply. Hers, that intense blue, his own, a watery, wild brown. Wet hair irritated her face as her head hung down. She was feeling ridiculous again. The scars on her arms and inner thighs ached. This body. She would get rid of it. Jacob reached out to touch her elbow as he guided her down a side street. She forgot, for a moment, how much she had come to despise herself.

  Then, suddenly, he averted his gaze. Again, eagle’s eyes, bright and dark darting. “Come in.” He motioned toward the door in front of them and pushed it open. It was dark inside.

  Elizabeth cleared her throat. “I don’t usually go into strange men’s houses. It’s not very safe.” With a sideways smile, he turned and moved into the building. She followed him, lips slightly parted. She entered and closed the door behind her. A cloud of darkness drifted down like exploded gunpowder over her head.

  She made a move to open the door. She could not. She felt him beside her and knew that he was using his weight to keep the door closed. She felt his quick breathing on her cheek and neck. Elizabeth squeezed her eyes shut and it only served to add to the darkness, to make her more isolated, to make her more aware of the length of Jacob next to her. She opened them again. It made no difference.

  Jacob could feel fear lashing out of her, scratching at him. How long would it take for panic to overwhelm, to peel back the façade she didn’t know she wore?

  “You aren’t afraid of the dark, Elizabeth.” A large, gentle hand stroked a lock of hair behind her ear.

  She opened her own mouth to speak but instead found herself inhaling warmth. It snaked through her nostrils, touched the back of her chilled throat, then filled her lungs and stomach with heat. Like steam, it did not stifle her.

  The light came in the form of a loud crackling blaze from somewhere low on the ground. It was a fireplace. Jacob stood, losing his eyes in the flames that reached for him, licking and destroying as they strove up and out at him. He stepped closer, still out of reach. His toasted skin glowed capricious gold and orange. He stepped closer still and the flames shrank back into their cave, leaving the stone mouth still warm.

  He stood up and asked, “Would you like some hot cocoa?” Elizabeth nodded. “You’ll find some clothes down that hall in the last room to your right. By the time you change, it’ll be ready. He watched her as she walked down the hall to his brother’s room.

  *

  Elizabeth stepped into the room. It was a world completely removed from that of the rest of the apartment. Even the comforting scent from outside did not penetrate this room. It was cold, lonely and sterile. The sun from outside pierced the windows and seared past the blue and white striped curtains. Wasn’t it evening? In Jacob Rush’s living room without the light of the flame, there had been complete and utter darkness. Here, her eyes hurt and she felt so exposed she was nearly overwhelmed by an illogical impulse to hide.

  Ultimately, her eyes adjusted to the light and she inspected the surroundings. Her pinprick pupils missed nothing. The bed was made up as meticulously as if some Marine had been ordered to make it a hundred times to ensure he got it right. It was blue. The carpet was dark gray. The mirror mounted above caught the sunlight and bounced the white light off the stark white walls at Elizabeth. Everything was blinding white, and she could not see herself in the mirror; she couldn’t see anything. It was getting hot.

  The heat pressed on her shoulders and massaged her back. She wanted to sleep. Wasn’t it nighttime? The bed beckoned and the light followed her as she neared it. She ran a hand over the soft downy cover, and lowered her lids with a slow smile, softening the hard and hungry angles of her face. Her limbs seemed trapped in slow motion. Her breathing was slow in her ears, but irregular to he who was listening. Yes, somehow, she knew he was there. Jacob. Rush. Listening.

  The vision was starting again. Only this time, there was no beginning, middle, or end. There was only fire. She was enveloped in flames so hot they couldn’t be distinguished from freezing even as they burned the flesh away from her bones. She opened her mouth to scream but only a plume of black smoke puffed out then tunneled back down her throat, turning to flame and burning her from the inside.

  “Are you OK?” His voice slashed in a cool arc through her dream. Her eyes fluttered. She was still burning. Her remaining flesh was bubbling, blistering. Her eyes were tearing, and as the water streaked down her cheeks, steam arose. Her whole body was on fire. She was burning, and she couldn’t understand why she was conscious through the pain. Her eyes opened, but blue light only seemed to reflect back at her. She realized she was in front of the mirror.

  “I’m fine,” she called, willing the after effects of the vision to end. Her eyes were open but she could not trust them anymore. She reached out. She remembered a closet. She stumbled blindly until she reached it. She felt for the door, which partly opened for her. It was dark within. She could only make out the outline of clothing inside, but it looked cool in there, safe in there.

  Safe. Inside, the vision ceased abruptly. She was cooling. Still hot, but cooling. Quickly, she passed her hands over the rest of her body until the blistered skin fell away and evaporat
ed as it was replaced with pale pink flesh. Mouse-brown hair grew back. She couldn’t let Jacob see the vision on her, smell it on her.

  The closet wasn’t dark. It was cast in a soft blue light. Inside, there were indeed men’s clothes. They hung neatly in the closet. Slacks, t-shirts, button downs. They were mostly very big and she only imagined how they would have looked on her thin, wiry body. The clothes were well-worn, well-cared for. She reached out a hand and touched a faded blue and green plaid shirt. It was so cool to the touch, cool to her heated touch. She moved further into the closet that tempted her, inviting her with a cool and fresh scent. The shirt fell around her thighs and she marveled at the size, so different from her own. She moved around in the cooling womb that had expanded for her, encasing her maternally in its obscurity.

  Then suddenly, she was afraid to go out. She couldn’t move again into the room with light that exposed her so much she could not see. It was a room that made her tired and told her she needed to close her eyes, to sleep a lifetime, to burn and to die.

  Then she heard his voice. “Are you all right in there, Elizabeth?”

  “Uhh...uhh, I’m fine.” She wanted to cry out to him that she wasn’t. To make him save her, but she could not. She expected his voice to move away again to leave her. It would be better than the humiliation of being stuck in a closet because she was afraid of the light.

  Silence played for a moment. Then the outer door was opened, and she could barely hear the footsteps coming towards her.

  He stopped outside the closet door. “Come out, Bright Star.”

  Slowly the door began to creep open and a small hand slipped around it. The hand was snatched, engulfed in his and she was pulled out and up. Cradled in his arms, she could see the room had dimmed with his presence. Then the darkness followed them out like a great cape that hung from Rush’s shoulders.