Shit, he supposed he was. But not from what he'd experienced here... more what his mother must have felt, being alone and in pain while she struggled through labor.
Whistling in a loud burst, he held up his palm as the three humans looked over. Dialing down their consciousness, he put them each in a light trance and then walked over to the metal door that had a sign screwed into it: WOMEN.
Planting his hand on the cold panel, he pushed his way in a little and listened. No sounds. Place was empty.
Xhex walked past him, her eyes going around the cinder-block walls and the stainless-steel sinks and the three stalls. The place smelled like Clorox and damp, sweaty stone and the mirrors weren't made of glass, but of polished sheets of metal. Everything was bolted down, from the drooling soap dispensers to the No Smoking sign to the rubbish bin.
Xhex stopped in front of the handicapped stall, her eyes sharp. As she nudged open the flapping door, she recoiled and seemed confused.
"Here..." She pointed down to the floor in the corner. "Here was where you were... where you landed."
When she glanced back at him, he shrugged. He didn't know which stall precisely, but it made sense that if you were having a baby, you'd want to be in the one with the most space.
Xhex stared at him as if she were seeing through him and he briefly shifted around and checked to see if someone had joined them. Nope. Just her and him, together in the women's bathroom.
What, he mouthed as she let the stall door shut.
"Who found you?" When he made like he was mopping the floor, she murmured, "A janitor."
As he nodded, he felt ashamed of this place, of his history.
"Don't be." She came over to him. "Believe me, I'm not one to judge. My circumstances aren't any better. Hell, they're arguably worse."
Being a half-breed symphath, he could only imagine. After all the two breeds didn't mix willingly for the most part.
"Where did you go from here?"
He led her out of the bathroom and glanced around. Qhuinn was standing in the far corner, glaring at the doors of the terminal like he was hoping something that smelled like baby powder would walk in. When the guy looked over, John nodded; then he untranced and scrubbed the minds of the humans, and the three of them dematerialized.
When they took form again, it was in the backyard of Our Lady's orphanage, next to the slide and the sandbox. A bitter March wind swept over the grounds of the church's sanctuary for the unwanted, the links of the swings creaking and the bare branches of the trees offering no protection. Up ahead, the rows of four-paned windows that marked the dormitory were dark... and so were all the ones in the cafeteria and the chapel.
"Humans?" Xhex breathed as Qhuinn wandered over and sat his ass on one of the swings. "You were raised by humans? God... damn."
John walked toward the building, thinking maybe this wasn't such a hot idea. She seemed horrified--
"You and I have more in common than I thought."
He stopped dead and she must have read his expression... or his emotions: "I was raised around people I wasn't like, too. Although considering what my other half is, that could have been a blessing."
Stepping in beside him, she stared up at his face. "You were braver than you thought." She nodded toward the orphanage. "When you were in here, you were braver than you thought."
He didn't agree, but he wasn't about to argue her faith in him. After a moment, he held out his hand toward her, and when she took it, they walked together to the back entrance. A quick disappear and they were on the inside.
Oh, shit, they used the same floor cleaner. Acid lemon.
And the layout of the place hadn't changed, either. Which meant the headmaster's office was still down the hall, in the front of the building.
Leading the way, he went over to that old wooden door, slipped off the backpack and hung it on the brass doorknob.
"What's in there anyway?"
He held up his hand and rubbed his fingers against his thumb.
"Money. From the raid on..."
He nodded.
"Good place for it."
John turned around and stared down the hall to where the dormitory was. As memories bubbled up, his feet started in that direction before he had a conscious thought to go over to where he'd once laid his head. It was so strange being here again, remembering the loneliness and the fear and the nagging sense that he was totally different--especially when he was with other boys his own age.
That had always made it worse. Being around that which he should have been essentially identical to had alienated him the most.
Xhex followed John through the hallway, staying a little behind him.
He was walking silently, toe-heel in his shitkickers, and she took his example to heart, doing the same so that they were nothing but ghosts in the quiet corridor. As they went, she noted that although the physical plant of the building was old, everything was spotless, from the high-polish linoleum, to the much-painted beige walls, to the windows with the chicken wire embedded in the glass. There was no dust, no cobwebs, no chips or cracks in the plaster.
It gave her hope that the nuns and the administrators looked after the kids with similar attention to detail.
As she and John came up to a pair of doors, she could feel the dreams of the boys on the far side, the tremors of emotion that bubbled up through their REM sleep tickling her symphath receptors.
John ducked his head in, and as he stared in at those who were where he had been, she found herself frowning again.
His emotional grid had... a shadow to it. A parallel but separate construct that she had picked up on before, but now found screamingly obvious.
She'd never sensed anything like it in anybody else and she couldn't explain it... and didn't think John was consciously aware of what he was doing. For some reason, though, this trip into his past was exposing the fault line in his psyche.
As well as other stuff. He'd been just like her, lost and apart, cared for by others out of obligation, not blooded love.
On some level, she thought that she should tell him to stop this whole thing, because she could sense how much it was taking out of him--and how much farther they had yet to go. But she was captivated by what he was showing her.
And not just because as a symphath she fed off the emotions of others.
No, she wanted to know more about this male.
While he studied the sleeping boys and got pulled into his past, she focused on his strong profile as it was lit by the security light over the door.
When she lifted her palm up and laid it on his shoulder, he jumped a little.
She wanted to say something smart and kind, put togther some combination of words to reach him where he'd reached her with this. But the thing was, there was more courage in these revelations of his than she had ever shown anyone, and in a world that was full of taking and cruelty, he was f**king breaking her heart with what he was giving her.
He'd been so lonely here and the echoes of the grieving were killing him. And yet he was going to soldier on because he'd told her he would do so.
John's beautiful blue eyes met her stare, and as he tilted his head in inquiry, she realized words were bullshit in moments like this.
Stepping into his hard body, she wrapped one of her arms around the small of his back. With her free hand, she stretched up and captured his nape, pulling him down to her.
John hesitated and then came willingly, linking his arms around her waist and burying his face in her neck.
Xhex held him, lending him her strength, offering him shelter that she was more than capable of providing. As they stood one against another, she looked over his shoulders into the room beyond, at the small dark heads on their pillows.
In the silence, she felt the past and the present shift and mix, but that was a mirage. There was no way to comfort the lost boy he'd been back then.
But she had the grown male.
She had him right in her arms, and for a brief moment of whimsy, she imagined that she was never, ever going to let him go.
Chapter Thirty-seven
As he sat in his guest room at the Rathboone mansion, Gregg Winn should have felt better than he did. Thanks to some evocative camera shots of that soulful portrait down in the living room, coupled with some stills of the grounds taken in the gloaming, the brass back in L.A. was thrilled with the presell footage and was set to start running it. The butler had also come along nicely, signing the legal documents that gave permission for all kinds of access.
Stan the cameraman could perform a proctology exam on the damn house for all the places he could stick his lens.