NUMB, Judy Colella [i am malala young readers edition .TXT] 📗

talked to me, sort of.”

“What? Really? This is the first time he’s said anything, yes?”

Jax shook his head. “I said ‘sort of,’ Dad. He, um, I don’t think he can actually talk. His voice isn’t working.”

“Why not?” His mother’s alarm was cushioned by her natural ability to remain calm in most situations. Even this one.

“Oh.” Jax hadn’t told them about the screams that had rendered their other son incapable of making normal sounds, mainly because what he had told them had been disturbing enough.

“What is it, Ajax?”

He took a deep breath. “Look, Dad, there’s something I didn’t want to talk about before, but I guess you’ll find out. I mean, he thinks he should be well enough to come home in a few more months, and unless something changes radically, you’ll…right. He – Jett had horrible nightmares. I don’t know if he still does or not, but, um, and I explained about how he kept trying to keep himself from thinking about what happened, right?”

Bryson’s raised brows were the equivalent of crossed arms and impatient foot-tapping.

“Okay. He’s been screaming in pain almost every day, and his voice is pretty much gone.”

“Why wouldn’t they give him pain medication?”

“They did, Mom. For his injuries. This pain was different. It couldn’t be treated with medication. Something the doctor told me the last time I was there made me think that the nightmares were worse when they did sedate him, so they eventually stopped doing that. I have no idea how that would be possible, but there you go. They said the yelling and all that increased every time they knocked him out.”

“Well, that sucks,” she said, surprising her son. “All right. How did he talk to you, then?”

“He wrote. Said he loved us all and was sorry for putting us through all these months of worry. He told me he’d tried to avoid hurting us by not committing suicide, but what he ended up doing instead was probably worse. Something like that.”

Bryson sat again, moving his book to the table beside his chair. “How does he look?”

“He’s gained a few pounds since the last time I saw him, and he’s walking on his own. His eyes aren’t the same, though. They’re, I don’t know, cold. Could be a continuation of whatever defenses he set up in his mind.” He shrugged.

“But he’s getting better, you say?”

“Yes, Mom. He also said you could both visit him if you wanted.” Before they could say anything, he added, “But I think you should wait a little while. He doesn’t look like himself at all, and that would upset you guys more than you might want to admit. Why not wait a couple of months? They tell me his appetite has improved, and now that he’s talking, well, writing, he’ll probably start trying to get back in shape, too.”

His parent exchanged a look he couldn’t quite interpret, but that gave him the impression they were agreeing on something.

“You’re right, of course,” said his father. “We’re plenty upset enough as is, so why make it worse, eh? We’ll wait, but I’d like some kind of progress report. Are you up to making another trip out there in the interim?”

Given the choice to do so, Jax would have gladly stayed at the Foundation until his brother decided he was ready to come home. “I am. When would like me to go back?”

“A couple of weeks, maybe? Yes?”

He nodded. “That makes sense. Thanks, Dad. I’ll do that.”

Celia stood and stretched. “All right! That’s settled and now I think I’d like to make us an early supper. I need to get some sleep – I have to be up practically at daybreak to go shopping with Trish. Her son is graduating early and they need to find him a suit.”

She’d made it sound like an impossible task, so Jax gave her an odd look. “Is this something unusual?”

“Have you met Brad?”

“I live out of state, Mom. And if I’m not mistaken, they had him after I moved away six years ago. So…wait. Graduating? How the heck old is this kid?”

Bryson laughed. “It’s a kindergarten graduation, Ajax. He’s only five.”

“Wow. Weren’t his parents a little old to be having another baby?”

“Trish is only forty-one – it’s perfectly normal these days to have children late in life.” Celia patted him on the arm as she went past, heading for the kitchen.

“Whatever.” He gave his father a shrug and removed his coat – he hadn’t bothered after coming in, and realized he was still wearing it. “Good thing Jett and ‘Tarah hadn’t had any, though.”

His father’s steps toward the door faltered for a nanosecond; Jax dismissed it as one of the man’s leg twinges.

After supper, they went to their respective rooms, but Jax paused at Jett’s door. It occurred to him that with all the traveling he’d been doing he hadn’t kept up with his personal life. His business life was still intact – he’d been given a paid leave of absence after returning from his two-week absence. His brother was practically worshipped by two of his bosses, and when he explained the situation, they had readily agreed to give him as much time as necessary to make sure Jett recovered. The next Summer Olympics were only two years away, and without the astounding skills of Jett Kinsley, the American team would be in serious trouble.

Jax found their willingness to help an act of selfishness more than one of compassion. After all, they invested large amounts of personal funds betting on the winners in the Games. Regardless of the motive, however, he was grateful for the time. Staying in touch with them was a peripheral consideration at this point. His friends were another story. He may not have been in a committed relationship, but he did have a large circle of friends – both male and female – who cared about him for him and not for his relationship to some famous athlete.

The last time he’d been at his parents’ home, he’d brought his laptop. This time he hadn’t bothered. Well, he’d use Jett’s. It wasn’t all that late, and he needed to check his emails, perhaps answer one or two.

Like the last time, being in his brother’s room felt strange, even though he now knew where Jett was and that he was recovering. In fact, this made it harder not to feel like he was violating his brother’s privacy. Couldn’t be helped, though.

Because he used the same email service as Jett, his brother’s account automatically popped up. Jax was about to log out and enter his own information, when an email address caught his attention.

ajohanansmom123@....

Why on earth would Chara be sending Jett an email? Hadn’t his mother told her he was MIA? And as far as Jax new, there hadn’t been any further communication between the two women since. How odd, then, that she’d be emailing – and wait. Why would she email Jett and not Celia?

Proving too much of an enigma to be left alone, he opened the email. A minute later, he was overjoyed that he had, yet almost wished he hadn’t.

Atarah Kinsley was alive and well. It had all been staged to protect her from some doctor…but he had found her and she was with him…had severe amnesia…wouldn’t touch her until after she had the baby…WHAT?!

Jax suddenly remembered his father’s miniscule stumble when he’d expressed relief that Jett and Atarah hadn’t had any children. He knew! Which meant his mother knew, too! But…did they know his sister-in-law was still alive?

“Holy shit!” He sat back, struggling to get his emotions and thoughts unscrambled so he could make a sane decision about how to deal with this information. Emptying his mind, he closed his eyes, told himself to relax and stop thinking for a moment. Then, a tiny bit more calm, he opened his eyes again, blinked back a new wave of panic, and re-read the email.

When he was done, he realized he had some choices to make. Did he tell his parents about this? Did he write back? Chara had written the message with the understanding that Jett was gone, but that she had faith he’d be back at some point and would need to be told exactly what had happened. Fine. So what would Jax say to her if he did respond? And finally, should he tell Jett?

“Damn it!” He needed an aspirin. Or a glass of wine. Something. He wondered how dangerous this doctor was, if he would harm Atarah to keep her from being returned to her family and husband – that whole if-I-can’t-have-her-nobody-can craziness.

He read the email again to confirm something. Nope. Chara had given no indication that she knew where the doctor and ‘Tarah were. Was that because she was afraid Jett would try and go after them himself, or because she didn’t know? He groaned, frustrated, and went back downstairs to put on a pot of coffee.

Until he figured out some kind of plan of action, he for sure wasn’t going to be getting any sleep.

*12*

 

 

“Who has it? Who? Who? I want it!”

“Aw, shut up, Fitz. Mr. Nobody took it. He’s outside practicing his throwing, I’m told.”

The first man, a middle-aged former lawyer known by the other patients only as “Fitz,” scowled, crossing his arms over his chest, and paced to the nearest window. “I don’t see him.”

The second man, a much older gentleman named Jules who was at one time an EMT, and who had seen one too many mangled bodies, snorted. “’Course you don’t, Fitz. The field is on the other side of the building! Idiot,” he added under his breath.

“Great. Is that the only baseball we have? I really wanted to have a game of catch.”

“Yup, it’s the only one, and you know why, too.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. So we respect it, or some such crap.” Fitz took a quick, deep breath and went to the ping-pong table where he picked up a paddle and began to pantomime hitting a ball. “You notice Mr. N has started to look better these days?”

“Hmm. Yeh, almost like an athlete. They must have improved the way they do physical therapy, ha!”

“Well, it helps that he’s so doggone tall to start with.” Fitz tossed the paddle back onto the table and threw himself into one of the recliners nearby. “Young, too. Wonder what’s wrong with him?”

“Besides him not talking, you mean?” Another man, closer in age to Jett who was recovering from a drug-induced psychosis that had caused him to attempt suicide twelve times during the previous year, smiled at the other two. “Maybe that’s why we all like him. He never says anything that pisses anyone off.”

Fitz shook his head. “Maybe not, but taking the baseball gets pretty close.”

“Hell, man, it isn’t like he’s leaving the planet with it!”

“Shut up, Jules.”

Silence took over for a while, broken only when Jett and one of the orderlies entered. Everyone looked up, but before any of them could speak, Jett walked across the room to Fitz and held out the ball.

“Hey, thanks, kid. How’d you know I wanted it?”

Jett shrugged, smiling. He was still underweight, but now had a healthier glow to his skin; he had also begun filling out and no longer looked anorexic.

“N’s got one hell of an arm,” said the orderly.