Chapter 8

Jason glanced down the hall before pulling the door to the downstairs bathroom closed with a solid thump while he remained outside. He retreated the way he had come, cocking his ear for any change in the drone of post-dinner conversation in the living room.

The door to the sewing room lay open a crack. Jason pushed it open just enough for him to slip inside and put it back where he had found it. A wave of nausea washed over him as if a foul odor had suddenly wafted towards his nose, his dinner giving a dangerous lurch before settling.

He had not set foot in this room since that day he had been forced to mind control his own mother. He still had not shed the guilt despite knowing it had helped him remain free to help his fellow Harbingers bring down Melissa. He could not pass by the room without wondering if things could have been different had he been more careful.

Jason frowned and shook his head. He did not have time for recriminations. He had to do what he had come here to do and leave.

The room had changed. His mother's sewing table and equipment had been shoved further into the corner to accommodate a small desk and a PC for his father, likely much to his mother's consternation. The monitor was dark, but to Jason's relief, he heard the whir of the PC fan.

He crossed the room and slid into the office chair. He hit the power button of the monitor with one hand while moving the mouse back and forth with the other. He was presented with a Windows "this computer is locked" screen which prompted him for his password.

Jason typed the password without hesitation and his father's desktop appeared. He had already filched the password via a keylogger he had tricked his father into installing soon after Halloween.

He had intended to keep tabs on anything his father might be up to, but that day all he wanted was a web browser. He started Internet Explorer and typed in the URL for the Haven Online Community Board, his heart thumping by the time he hit RETURN. When the site came up, he saw exactly what he had expected: nothing but a few volunteer jobs.

Jason was not sure what he expected to see. He knew one of Melinda's fears had been that her mother would force her and Heather to work at the Li'l Missy Inn. He closed the browser and leaned back. Was he jumping at shadows? Was there something less sinister at work? Was this all an elaborate distraction from something else, something bigger, something--?

The door to the room suddenly closed with a thump and a click.

Jason bolted out of the seat and whirled around, his eyes wide. His father cast an even gaze back, pausing to raise a half-empty glass of watery scotch to his lips. "You're getting more sneaky, I'll give you that," Henry said in a low voice, all trace of amusement gone. "Closed the bathroom door and everything. All for nothing, since you're barking up the wrong tree. Again."

Jason hesitated, not having expected that sort of response. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"You won't find anything incriminating on my PC. I don't keep anything about my work at the hospital on that thing."

"I'm not interested in what you're doing at the hospital," Jason declared, his voice rising with his pent-up frustrations.

Henry shook his head. "You're not a good liar, son."

Jason sighed. He had wanted to build up a nice head of steam again his father, but he was too mentally exhausted. "All right," he said in a more contrite voice. "But I am telling the truth when I say I'm not interested in it right now."

Henry cradled his drink in his hands. He glanced past Jason and saw the icon for IE was still highlighted. "You're still barking up the wrong tree." He gestured with his drink towards the PC. "I already looked. I didn't find any jobs listed, either."

Jason gave his father a nonplussed look.

"So surprised that I actually give a shit about what's up with Audrey?" Henry said. "Why is it so damn hard for you to understand that just maybe we're on the same side this time?"

Jason stared at the edges of the man's Aura. He wondered if his father really knew he could see it. Perhaps he did but did not care; Jason would prefer ignorance over indifference.

"And, see, I even conceded when I said 'this time, '" said Henry. "I'm willing to accept you thinking your father is some sort of sociopathic bastard rather than--"

"All right, Dad, I get the picture, okay?" Jason cried.

Henry sighed. "I'm not sure you do."

"So what do you think is up with her?"

"I haven't a clue. I have a feeling you do, though."

Jason remained silent, though the truth wanted to leave his mouth.

Henry raised the glass. "So we keep playing this game. Wonderful."

"Suppose I did tell you," Jason said in a challenging voice.

Henry paused and slowly lowered it. "I'm listening."

"What in hell would you do about it? Could you do anything about it?"

Henry's lips twitched, as if wanting to form a frown but refraining at the last moment. Jason reveled in the man's indecision. The first question had implied that his father was the one playing the game, that he knew a lot more of what was happening in Haven than he would let on. The second question had forced him into the dilemma of revealing that he indeed possessed and could wield Dark power.

Henry stared into his drink. "Fine. It's obvious your mother is under some sort of influence. What I don't know is how bad or to what purpose."

Jason wished he could trust his father, but every time he thought about revealing anything, he panicked that even the least bit of information he let slip would either make it back to the Darkness or further his father's hidden agenda.

"I don't know to what purpose, either," Jason said in a flat voice. "Now answer the original question I put to you, Dad. Could you do anything about it?"

Henry cast a long, sad look at his son, and Jason dared to believe some actual sentiment existed. "I'm not sure."

Jason stared. Any other answer -- an outright denial of his power or an all-out confession -- would have been preferable to that. "You're not sure?"

"I can only do so much!" Henry sighed and wiped his face with his free hand. "You don't know even a fraction of what I am dealing with. Things are not black and white despite your attempts to pigeonhole them as such."

Jason opened his mouth to protest that assessment, but the cruel clarity of his own memories stopped him. He looked towards the sewing area, and he could almost see his mother standing there again, her face slack and her eyes glazed, as Jason de-programmed several hours of memories.

"I've said far more than I should have," Henry muttered.

"Then why tell me anything at all?" Jason demanded. "Why give me the idea that you might give a shit and actually want to help if you're just going to turn around and tell me you can't do anything anyway? I don't get you, Dad. You're not making any sense!"

"Things work slowly, Jason. I have to start small. I have to know what is going on first before I can--"

Both father and son flinched at the banging on the door. "Henry, what's going on in there?" Audrey demanded.

Henry frowned. He turned to Jason, put a finger on his lips, and pointed towards a spot on the wall near the hinge side of the door. Jason nodded and zipped across the room. Henry opened the door, hiding his son from view.

Audrey stepped across the threshold. "Henry, I won't tolerate you taking any calls from the hospital today, and furthermore--"

"I'm done," Henry said. "I was just about to come out."

Audrey stared at him for a moment, then sighed and put her hands on her hips. "Really, I wish you could focus on your family for just one day."

"Not now, Audrey, not with a guest in the house. You can yell at me later. Now, shall we repair to the living room before your sister gets bored from the lack of an audience?"

Audrey frowned. When Henry raised the glass to his lips, she snatched it away. "You've had enough," she hissed.

"Fine. Shall we, then?" He ushered Audrey out of the room and started to close the door behind him.

"Wait!" Audrey cried, and they stopped with the door halfway closed. Jason took a step away from the wall so his mother would not spot him in the gap between the door and the frame. "I want to check on Jason, he's been in the bathroom an awfully long time. Fine thing if he got sick on Thanksgiving."

"I'm sure he's fine, Audrey. I'll check on him myself before I return to the living room, okay?"

Audrey glanced down the hall towards the closed bathroom door. "All right. But please, no more. Maybe I should have taken the power cord from your computer as well."

"We all can claim twenty-twenty hindsight. Now, please, I'll be along shortly."

Audrey nodded but left in a huff. Henry paused, then gestured. Jason came around the edge of the door.

"Go into the bathroom and flush the toilet," Henry said.

Jason nodded. Henry stepped out first, standing in the middle of the hall as a shield. Jason dashed to the bathroom as quietly as he could and eased himself into the room. He pushed the handle on the toilet and opened the door in a rush, hoping it would make more noise that way.

"Everything okay, son?" Henry asked loud enough to carry into the living room.

"Yes, I'm fine," Jason declared, hoping the nervous quaver in his voice was only his own perception. "Just got interested reading something while I was in there."

"Heh, always the bookworm. Can't fault you for that. Well, let's get back to the others."

Jason nodded. Several emotions flitted through his head but none would stick. He no longer had any idea how he should feel towards his father anymore.

If Ned had anything good to say about a Thanksgiving Day meal with the Kendalls, it was that he would not lack for variety of food. Even the main course presented a choice. If he had not been content with turkey, he could have had duck or pheasant. More side dishes were available than he could possibly eat. The cranberries alone had been fixed six different ways.

Ned learned that the term "help yourself" was unheard of at the Kendalls. Any time Ned reached for something, a servant surged forward with a soft "allow me, sir" followed by everything being done for him. The first and second time, it had been a novelty; by the sixth time it had become annoying; after the tenth time, he hoped to be content with what remained on his plate.

Dorothy and Robert communicated with the servants through gestures or simple looks. Cassie did so as well, but far more reluctantly, and appeared somewhat embarrassed whenever Ned looked at her. Ned mused if this is how Cassie managed to stay so slim.

The meal had gone on for some time in the same tense silence which had followed his first abortive attempt to engage the Kendalls in conversation. The quiet gave him too much time to dwell upon some of what Cassie had told him, and it led him to questions he was sure the Kendalls would either not answer or become offended that he had asked.

The most burning question was the one Cassie had posed in passing: just what was a family like the Kendalls doing in a place like Haven? The question would not let go no matter how hard he pushed it away. He was sure Cassie had asked the same thing, and he would likely get no better answer, so he tried to turn it around.

Ned cleared his throat and lifted his head. Dorothy cast an imperious gaze at him and narrowed her eyes slightly. "Um ... sorry if I'm, uh, speakin' outta turn, Mr. Kendall. Not sure what yer traditions are fer the Thanksgivin' meal."

Robert looked up, and Ned thought he appeared relieved to hear another voice. He waved a fork in the air (to Dorothy's disapproving glance). "Not at all. Please, speak what's on your mind."

Cassie glanced at her father as if in approval and looked to Ned with interest. Dorothy raised her wine glass.

Okay, here goes, he thought. "I was jus' wonderin' what ya thought of life here in this tiny burg o' Haven."

Dorothy's glass landed on the table with a thump. Cassie's eyes widened slightly.

"I jus' thought, well, it's not the kinda place I'd expect folks like ya to be."

A tiny smile ghosted Robert's lips. "Oh? And what sort of place would you expect to find us, young man?"

"Mebbe a big city. Since yer inta bizness an' finance I thought a place like that suits ya more, an' this place ... well, ya know what I mean." Ned wanted to bang his head against the table a few times; he had come close to saying "and this place would be more like a summer home."

Robert glanced at his wife before he straightened in his seat and dabbed his mouth with a napkin. The mask slipped over his face once more, and he spoke as if giving a pitch of a new product at a business conference. "I would have to say that living here gives one a sense of perspective."

Dorothy lowered her eyes to her plate and ate in silence.

"Ah, okay," Ned said and wondered if he should leave it at that. Curiosity pushed caution aside. "Perspective about what, 'xactly?"

"About what is important in life. Haven gives me a sense of balance."

"Balance?"

Dorothy paused in mid-bite. Her eyes flicked up.

"Yes, balance, young man. Balance is important no matter what the endeavor. I strive to maintain it in everything I do, even to correct its lack where I find it."

Dorothy's eyes burned for a moment, flicked over to Ned, and then returned to her plate.

Ned thought he had detected a small sigh from Cassie, and the look in her eyes suggested this was nothing she had not heard before. Cassie had stated he had political friends, but Ned thought he could be a politician himself from the way he had both answered and not answered the question.

He felt he was picking up as many subtle clues as Cassie could, and they were all coming from her mother. He had kept a careful eye on every gesture and movement. Yeah, fer everything this here magnate is tellin' me, there's a freakin' encyclopedia that he ain't, Ned thought. An' Ms. Snootynose here is his censor.

Ned decided it was not worth pushing it. "Yeah, balance is always good. Kinda like how yer mansion sorta looks like it balances on the edge of the cliff out there. Kinda neat effect."

"I am pleased you noticed," Robert said with a smile. "I chose the location myself, though thank my wife for the interior design."

"Oh? Why this partic'lar spot?"

"Aesthetics," Dorothy's voice rang out. "Surely even someone of your background can understand that."

"Mother, " Cassie murmured.

"Nah, it's okay," Ned said with a small grin. "Didja pick all the furnishin's and whatnot fer the inside, Mrs. Kendall?"

Dorothy looked taken aback at being addressed directly, but she recovered quickly and held her head high. "I did indeed supervise designing the decor of the interior, yes." She gave him a steel-eyed look. "Why do you ask?"

Ned shrugged and took another bite of his dinner. Somehow this was easing his tension, despite how clearly it was raising hers (or perhaps because of it). "Jus' was wonderin'. Sure is a swell-lookin' place."

"I am reassured that you believe so."

"Perhaps I can take you on a tour after dinner, young man," said Robert.

"Oh, Cassandra already gave me the ten-cent tour." Ned smirked. "Or mebbe here I should call it the ten-gran' tour."

Cassie's lips twitched into a brief, tiny smile.

Robert picked up his glass of wine. "In that case, was there anything in particular which impressed you?"

"Oh, I'll say," Ned said. "That li'l doll house in the playroom is just the coolest--"

Dorothy's fork clattered to her plate. "She showed you WHAT?!"

Ned froze, his own fork halfway to his mouth, Dorothy's bellow still ringing from the furthest corners of the room. Cassie bolted up in her chair and stared, wide-eyed in shock. Robert's eyes darted between his wife and Ned.

"Uh..." Ned said. "Was ... was that bad?"

Dorothy opened her mouth and closed it again, her face livid. She glared at Cassie.

"I didn't even remember it was there!" Cassie blurted just as her mother looked about to explode.

Robert's eyebrows rose. "Didn't remember? Why, I thought that was one of your most beloved toys."

"Robert!" Dorothy hissed.

Robert turned to her and frowned. "Dorothy, calm yourself. Please."

Dorothy's gaze flitted between Ned and Cassie before focusing once more on her husband. "You know how I feel about that doll house, Robert," she said in a low, strained voice.

Cassie gave Ned a look of surprise and then stared at her mother.

Oh-ho, she's pickin' up something on the ol' empath radar, Ned thought. I know that look anywhere.

Robert nodded once. "Yes, I do. You want it to become a sort of family heirloom is how I understand it."

"Hey, if it helps any, I didn't lay a single grubby paw on it," Ned lied. "Not a one. Figgered it might be some kinda deal like that. I jus' looked at it from across the room."

Dorothy glared at him, but her gaze slowly softened. She nodded once. "Very well. My apologies for my behavior, it was quite unbecoming a Kendall."

Ned nodded and grinned. "Yeah, no prob, Mrs. Kendall. Water under the ol' proverbial bridge."

Dorothy nodded once more, and the meal again lapsed into uneasy silence.

Ned glanced at Cassie and saw an urgency burning in her eyes. Ned felt it as well, but realized that any talk about this was going to have to wait.

Hoo-boy, Ned thought. I can practic'ly hear the skeletons in the closet rattlin' from here.

Richie tucked into Thanksgiving Dinner as if it were the best meal of his life.

The turkey was a little dry; the potatoes were overdone and didn't have enough salt; the cranberry sauce was a cylindrical blob which still bore the indentations of the seams of the aluminum can from which it came; the rolls were doughy. Richie didn't care. He felt like he had a semblance of a family again.

The Darkness had backed off, and Richie had no idea why. For once he didn't care. His mother's Aura lay quiescent, its tendrils moving in placid swirls to little purpose. Even Cathy's lay dormant as well, though it had left her in a heightened state of arousal. She shifted in her seat, and her feet slid back and forth under the table.

"I still say you need to get your ass in gear in school," Sandra said, poking the air with her fork, a few bits of dressing falling to the tablecloth.

"Aw, the semester's practically over, Mom."

"Don't give me that. You got finals coming up and I don't want to see any D's this year, you got me?"

Richie rolled his eyes, just to see his mother give him that look. It had been ages since he had seen that look. "You should be happy I don't flunk out."

Sandra shook her head. "What is it with you? You weren't this bad about school when you were younger."

Richie ignored the obvious implications and discarded the usual responses. He wanted to think of nothing about Haven or what his mother had become. He would keep up the illusion as long as the Darkness was busy with something else. "Well, maybe back then I wasn't as serious as I am now about baseball."

"You got that way too much on the brain."

"Well, see, I gotta, if I'm gonna get good enough for the real deal."

Sandra raised an eyebrow and put down her fork. "What the fuck is that supposed to mean?"

Richie took a big bite of turkey and paused to chew before responding. He felt a sense of growing excitement and wanted to make sure it was coming from him and nowhere else. "What do you think it means, huh? I'm gonna go for the big leagues."

Sandra stared. "You want to be a professional baseball player?"

"Damn fucking straight I do."

"When the hell did you decide that?"

If Richie wanted to be absolutely honest, he would answer "just now," yet it was something he had toyed with for the past two years. Every time he saw his hitting game get better, every time he saw himself making more outs, he dared to think he could do it. "What's the big deal? They keep getting on our fucking case at school about choosing a career. Well, I just did. Now they can shut the fuck up about it."

Richie was loving this. Come on, keep arguing with me, Mom! he thought when she paused with a nonplussed look on her face. I know you think I made a stupid decision. Say it!

Sandra sighed through the next bite of her roll. "You're not thinking this through. As usual."

"I think Richie would make a great baseball player," Cathy spoke up, squirming in her seat. "Even when he was little he was good at it."

"Hey, see?" Richie said. "And she hated my guts back then."

Cathy giggled and played with the potatoes on her plate. "I'm not sure why I did, to be honest. You're such a nice guy. And I'm sure you'd look all sexy in those uniforms that--"

"Cathy, shut up," Sandra snapped before turning her attention back to Richie. "Don't you dare think this is gonna get you out of going to college."

Richie smirked. "Course I'm gonna go to college. Where the hell do you think all the minor league recruiters look for new players?"

Sandra rolled her eyes and covered them with her hand for a moment. "You are so fucking hopeless sometimes."

"Hey, I'll keep up with the schoolwork, no prob. Just don't expect me to take anything deeper than shop."

"And what if your career doesn't pan out? What if you have to quit?"

"Mom? News flash! You don't have a nerd for a son. I'm not good at that kind of stuff. I'm good at this. End of story."

"And what are you going to do when you're waiting to be noticed by the big leagues?" Sandra boomed. "What then?"

Richie shrugged. "I'll just do some odd jobs here and there. You know, steal cars, fence stolen goods, sell drugs, that sort of thing."

Sandra's fork clattered to her plate.

Richie burst out laughing. "You shoulda seen the look on your face! Oh man, it was priceless!"

Cathy glanced between them and muffled a giggle with her hand. Her Aura swirled about her faster, and she squirmed in response.

"This is not funny, Richie," Sandra said, though her voice lacked the conviction it had moments ago.

"Aw, c'mon, Mom, you think I'd actually do any of that shit?"

"Then answer my question seriously!"

"Seriously? I guess then my next answer is out. I was gonna say I'd get by on my good looks."

"I think you could," Cathy said in a sultry voice.

Richie smirked, but it faded when he looked at her. Her Aura was surging now, writhing about in a perverted sensual dance. He saw her breasts swell against her sweater with each intake of quickened breath.

"I know I'd be willing to do anything for you," Cathy cooed. "Anything at all if you would just--"

"Yeah, that's great, Cathy, thanks for the support," Richie said. He turned to his mother and gestured towards his cousin with his thumb. "Hey, when do you need to get her back to Randall?"

Sandra appeared a bit thrown off by the question. "Oh, um, whenever. I don't think we ever settled on a time."

Richie saw his mother's Aura writhing once more and uttered a small sigh as he leaned back in his chair. "Party's over."