Most times he felt the need.
But at times like this when Aubrey was distraught and troubled, but silent as a child with a bad secret, Vaughn was taxed to his relatively low limit. And at times like this Vaughn thought of Michelle and forced himself, as Aubrey came through the door, to be gentle as he could.
"Hey, Aubrey. What's up?"
"… Noth… I…"
"C'mon, man. Something's up."
Aubrey didn't say anything.
"Something's the matter. You know I know, so just tell me."
Aubrey kept up his quiet.
Less than a minute. Already Vaughn's patience was worn beyond thin. It'd be so much easier to slip into Aubrey's mind—Aubrey's mind would be nothing but easy to slip into—and extract whatever he cared to know, affect Aubrey and make him happy or sleepy or anything else that'd give Vaughn another couple hours of peace and God-loving quiet.
Except Vaughn didn't do that; didn't coax. Not with his own kind. A rule. One those who're gifted adopted a long time ago. One Vaughn, even now, stuck to. Vaughn just sucked a deep breath and tried again.
"Aubrey… Aubrey, you do something wrong? That what happened?"
"… Yes."
Yes. A word. It was a start.
"Tell me 'bout it."
"Can't."
Look at him, Vaughn thought. Scared. Squirming where he stood like if he didn't pee, his bladder was going to bust. That wasn't how adults behaved. This was a waste of time. So much easier to just…"Course you can. You can tell me anyth—"
"You'll get mad."
"I won't."
"You'll get mad and hurt people."
"Damn, man. I'm not gonna hurt you."
Aubrey made a noise: "Unnnnnnnn."
"Aubrey!"
"I'm sorry, Vaughn." All of a sudden Aubrey's eyes got wet. All of a sudden tears spilled out and ran over his cheeks, ran streaks through the dirt that pancaked his face. Aubrey's face and skin,
Vaughn's too, were perpetually dirty. Hard to keep clean when you live like a pack rat. Except Michelle. Michelle seemed always clean. Michelle seemed—
A long pause full of fear, then: "… Michelle…"
Years of living with his abilities. Vaughn, attuned to the subtle, was nearly blind to the obvious. Michelle never went anywhere without Aubrey. The opposite was also true. But here was Aubrey. Alone.
"Where's Michelle? What happened to Michelle?"
A daze settled over Aubrey."My fault. Shoulda been me," he chanted."Shoulda been."
Vaughn's mind went sharp as a switchblade, tore into Aubrey, dissected and cut and ripped away images: Olive Street. A sinkhole. Lives saved by Michelle's gift of grace.
Vaughn hacked deeper into Aubrey's memory. A cop and a gun and a shot fired. Michelle hit. Michelle hurt. Michelle tumbling through the air. Falling like a rock. Falling…
Michelle…
Minds locked, Vaughn/Aubrey screamed.
Vaughn pulled himself out of Aubrey's head.
Aubrey sank to the floor. Blood leaked freely from his nose, covered his jaw.
Vaughn swayed, buckled. He'd absorbed more than just recollections. He got everything Aubrey had seen and heard. Hours after the fact, and he'd been where Aubrey'd been: Hidden in a crowd on a hot street in the center of LA, he'd stood and watched Michelle, watched his wife get killed.
No.
Murdered.
Feeble in voice as he was in body: "Tell me."
"It's my fault," Aubrey sobbed through the hands that clutched at his nose."It's—"
"Goddamn it, tell me, or I'll go back inside."
"No, Vaughn." Aubrey wrapped his arms around his head as if that'd protect him; as if that'd keep Vaughn from shredding his mind again."I'll tell you! I'll tell! She… she wanted to go out. You were gone, and, and she wanted to go out."
"I told you never to—"
"I know. I know, but I couldn't help it. She wanted to, and, and I couldn't help it."
Vaughn knew he couldn't have refused Michelle either, sirenlike as she was angelic. Vaughn'd never been able to act contrary to Michelle's graces, so what willpower could a mess like Aubrey have in reserve against her?
"Michelle, Michelle didn't like being all inside all the time. She didn't like it. Michelle liked to be outside. She liked, you know, she liked people."
Past tense. It made Vaughn's stomach retch, his head swim.
"We went walking. We went walking 'cause… 'cause Michelle liked to, liked to, uh, liked to go out and be good to people." Aubrey sputtered on the blood that ran down into his mouth. He wiped it from his upper lip. It was freshly replaced."She got this, like, drug woman to not, not to be on drugs anymore. And, and there was this guy who was in a, uh, gang who just about got shot but didn't. And then… and then…"
An image from Aubrey's mind."The sinkhole," Vaughn said.
"We were on… on this one street…"
"Olive Street…"
"And she got that look, you know? That look of… pre…"
Precognition. Vaughn knew the look. One split second of anxiety in anticipation of death, disaster. One moment of radiant glow as she… what did she do? What other way was there to say it? Michelle made miracles happen.
"And then there was this police lady there. And, and she sees Michelle, and she… I don't know, but she knows something's not… she knows something's bad. And the police lady started chasing Michelle. But Michelle, she didn't care. She wasn't worried."
Why should she be? No one could hurt Michelle. No one would ever—
"And the police lady's chasing Michelle and she's chasing her and… and Michelle tried to fly away. Right in the middle of the street she tried to fly away… and then… and then…" Aubrey lost it, broke out in heaves and tears.
Didn't matter. Vaughn didn't need the story finished. He'd seen it. Michelle, mortally wounded, left to bleed like a rabid dog put down in the middle of the street. He knew people'd gathered and gawked and stared and pointed and taken pictures and said: "They did it, they got another freak." That's what waited for the ones who were careless or reckless. Or worse, it's what waited for those who couldn't just stand idle when people needed help; went into action putting out a fire with a single huffed breath or yanking a child from the path of a runaway truck at hyperspeed, doing so, revealing themselves for what they really were. Vaughn thought for certain it's what one day—too thoughtless, too distracted around metal— would happen to Aubrey. It's what he never thought, could let himself think, would happen to Michelle.
A wave of despair spilling over him; Aubrey could feel, vividly, the hole in Vaughn's soul. An empty pit into which he slid.
"Vaughn, please… don't… They'll… the rest of them'll get mad!"
"Fuck them! They want us to hide, they want us to wait. Then they let… they let Michelle…"
"… Vaughn…"
"They killed my wife."
A block away, a homeless man cried uncontrollably.
"Vaughn, don't do nothing. Please don't."
Clumsily Vaughn took Aubrey in his arms and held him. Vaughn was no good at expressing himself with touch. Tender, firm, harsh: shades that were beyond him. Michelle understood that about Vaughn. Michelle forgave him that: his aversion to physical contact. It was poor tribute to her that Vaughn even bothered trying with
Aubrey. But he did, he tried, and what Vaughn couldn't do with his hands he did with his mind. He calmed and reassured and then, with a gentle thought, he made Aubrey weary and sent him into what amounted to a restless, agitated sleep.
Vaughn stayed awake. He had so much to consider now that he had nothing left to live for.
Whump whump, thwap, thump-thwap.
Wasn't much going on.
There wasn't much going on in Soledad's life since her last OIS, since she'd gotten herself stuck back on a desk doing paperwork, back to being a secretary with a gun. And the gun might only be temporary.