Voices – Page 83
Jen went first white and then an ugly grey. She put her hand against the floor and breathed deeply.
“You okay, Jen?” John asked her.
Jen shook her head. “Not really, no.”
“Take three deep breaths and tilt your head down,” Starkings advised. Jen did as she was told, and some color returned to her face.
“Sorry. I thought I was going to pass out.”
“You think we’re going to throw you in Jail, I imagine,” Starkings said.
“Why would I think that?” Jen asked, trying not to sound guilty. To her own ears, she was doing an exceptionally poor job of it.
Starkings gave her a cool grin and sipped at his coffee, then said. “Your uncle was found in your room, his bones crushed, partially dismembered from the impact of his body against the wall. Quite a mystery, until the testimony from one mister Manny Ramirez from channel six news, in which he details how you blew a hole in the ground by pointing at it.”
Jen put her face in her hands and shuddered. Brian and Kevin were looking at her with curiosity. John touched her hair, and she grabbed at his hand, squeezing it.
“Forensics was still able to do a thorough examination, and we learned a good deal about the events preceding his death. Jennifer, now that we know what you can do, we know what you did to him. We already knew what he was doing to you.” Starkings said. His voice was gentle.
Jen made a coughing, crying noise. She let go of John’s hand and curled up on the floor, shaking. John slid off the table and sat down. He took Jen in his arms, pulled her against him, and held her there. Jen’s quiet weeping was the only noise in the room for a time.
At last, Starkings said, “I’m sorry, Jennifer. I’m sure it must have been awful.”
“Why don’t we move on?” John said. Jen was still crying against his chest. “Tell me my life story.”
Starkings nodded. “You’re Johnathan Storm, son of William and Theresa, divorced. William lives in Brooklyn. Theresa lives upstate. Your older brother Alex spent time in the Marine Corps. You work as an electronics salesperson and recently you’ve been making an incredible living doing so. If you continue at the rate you’ve been selling for the past month, your income this year will near one hundred and fifty thousand dollars.”
Brian choked on his coffee and stared at John, who shrugged.
“Do you force them to buy?” Starkings asked.
“No,” John said. “I’ve never forced anyone to buy anything. I just… know what they want, and how to sell it to them.”
Starkings said, “You didn’t feel good about that, did you?”
“No,” said John.
“Good. Nearly all of our telepaths who have that sort of instinctive morality turn out to be very valuable.”
