Eye of the Sh*t Storm by Jackson Ford (most romantic novels .txt) 📕

takes a deep breath, visibly calms herself. “It’s just like a car. Pop the clutch and accelerate at the same time.”

“I’ve never driven manual!”

“Are you serious right now?”

I open my mouth to tell her to ease up, and then Jonas Schmidt walks out of the night, sauntering towards us.

THIRTY-FIVETeagan

Jonas wears the same outfit as before – same suit, with the white T-shirt underneath it. His hands are in his pockets, and the smile on his face is gentle.

“Hello again, Teagan,” he says.

This isn’t real. It’s not real, it’s the Zigzag Man, he’s here, he—

But these thoughts come from very far away. It’s as if they belong to someone else.

I blink – it seems to take ten years to open and close my eyes – and I’m no longer outside the train depot in Chinatown. I’m in a hangar at an airport, standing alongside a sleek private jet. Slanted rectangles of sunlight paint the floor, coming from windows set high in the rear wall. Jonas is at the bottom of the plane’s entry stairway, which leads up to a door filled with warm, beckoning light.

And I can’t believe how calm I feel. It’s as if the light coming through the plane door is inside me, too, blooming inside my chest. I can’t look away from Jonas, can’t look away from that easy, welcoming smile.

I don’t want to.

It’s happening faster this time, you’re much more exhausted, he’s inside your head—

“I’m here to help,” Jonas says.

The others are in trouble, Leo, Annie…

“Isn’t this what you want?” Jonas’s eyes crinkle in amusement.

“I—”

“Just come with me, and everything will go away. You won’t have to make any more decisions. I’ll do it all – all you have to do is come into my house.”

The calm light fills every part of me. I take a step towards him, a smile of my own breaking out of my face. As I do so, there’s a strange sensation on my shoulder, as if someone is gripping tight, shaking. I reach up, brush it away, and the feeling vanishes.

“You can do whatever you want,” he says. “And I will be there. I will always be there.”

No, this is wrong—

Except: I do want him. I want him so badly.

I want what he represents. Freedom. The ability to make my own choices without having to worry if the consequences will hurt me, or hurt others. I want to make choices that I will not regret.

And I want someone I can be with. I burn with that want.

Someone to listen to me, and to hold me, and to make love to me. I want to make love without thinking, to have it be as natural and as easy as the light that fills me up.

Jonas can offer me that. He can help me. He can protect me. He can love me.

“I’m ready,” I say, reaching out to him.

His smile grows wider. “I never had a doubt.”

He takes my hand. His skin is warm, and dry, his grip firm.

“Come into my house.” He gestures to the door of the plane. The light is so bright that I can’t actually see the interior. “Come into my house, and be safe.”

The same irritating sensation on my shoulder – both shoulders now. I shrug deliberately, trying to get past it, walking towards the plane.

But something holds me back. Locks my feet in place.

Jonas turns, frowns. “Isn’t this what you want?”

It is. It’s what I want. What I can’t understand is: why, as Jonas says those words, does his face became Nic’s?

There was no mistaking it. At least… I think there was no mistaking it. My thoughts are slow, mired in the warm light.

I open my mouth to tell Jonas that this is what I want, but the words don’t come. When I try to speak, I can’t hear myself.

“My house is close,” Jonas says.

Emergency blink. Emergency blink now!

“We can spend all the time you like inside it. It goes on for ever.”

I let go of his hand.

Let my eyes slowly close.

“Teagan.” Jonas’s voice is different now. Changing. For the first time, a tiny needle of fear pierces my chest.

“My house does not lie,” Jonas says.

I squeeze my eyes shut, then open them.

And scream.

The hangar is gone. The plane is gone. Jonas is still there, but his skin is melting, running off his face like slow-moving lava. The light is everywhere, but it’s no longer warm. It’s hot, burning, searing, and there are flames and smoke and the needle of fear has become a knife, twisting, and Jonas…

He’s not Jonas any more.

He’s Carlos.

Carlos Morales. A man I’ve tried very hard to forget. My old China Shop teammate. My friend. The person who betrayed me, who tried to frame me for murder.

The man I left to die.

To burn.

The fight I had with Jake, the only other psychokinetic I’ve ever met, left Carlos impaled on a steel pole. A wildfire was approaching and I couldn’t get out in time and I was so scared, and I—

“Hola, mi hermana,” Carlos says. His grin is the most awful thing I’ve ever seen, a white slash in a blistering, burning face. “It’s been a long, long time.”

I blink, again and again, but it doesn’t work. Carlos takes a step towards me, still smiling as the fire ravages him, and I topple over backwards. I’m sobbing, screaming at him that I’m sorry, but the words are silent. I can’t look away. In desperation, I try to reach out with my PK, but there’s nothing. Not a single thing, not even fuzziness. It’s like it’s gone for good.

“There’s a fire in my house, mi hermana.” Carlos raises a burning hand, examines it, as if surprised at the scorched, peeling skin. The flames have burned a hole in his cheek, exposing his jaw. His face changes, Jonas one moment, Nic the next, all burning, all grinning. “There’s a fire in my house, and it’s your fire, and it is going to eat you alive.”

I can’t scream any more. I can’t breathe.