My dearest Sparks.
I just wanted to say thankyou all for your kindness and encouragement.
Last post I did that thing again, pointing out something I noticed about myself, that some might call bragging, and I never meant it that way. But you were all so gracious about it in your comments and it just reminded me that we are allowed to notice when we’ve done something good.
I feel it is safe to assume that you all agree that this story of mine is a worthwhile endeavor. Even if I’m not making money off of it, my time here is not wasted.
Now I know that most of you will agree that money is overrated, but in my experience it does serve as a measuring stick of sorts. If you’re spending so much time on something it had better be worthwhile and many people measure the value of a thing by how much others are willing to pay for it.
I don’t think any amount of money will ever be enough to justify the hours I’ve devoted to this story, what I’ve so eagerly sacrificed in pursuit of it. And that, I believe is an artist’s perspective. Now I am not someone who considers herself an artist. No way. And I wouldn’t call what I have here art, by any measure. But the fact that I think that all the money in the world couldn’t match what my story means to me, says something. Maybe I just don’t value money the way some people do. And yeah, I get that that makes me sound like a spoiled brat, someone who has never known real hardship. Maybe I haven’t, or maybe I just have a different perspective.
As for the story…
INDEX | Chapter 11 | Scene 1 | Scenes 2 & 3 | Scenes 4 - 6 | Next Scene → Coming soon.
Previously: Logan and Misty meet for the first time post-sync and in that intimate setting, study one another as if for the first time. Misty shares some details with him about how the connection works and the two spend some time communicating in a new way.
“I thought that what we did in the forest would bring her some stability,” I say, unable to keep the worry from my voice. “I thought it would give Misty some peace so she can stop pushing so hard. But she’s sped up rather than slow down. She is living on protein bars and shakes, she hardly sleeps. I don’t know what to do anymore.”
Luke sits on the white leather sofa, his eyes on the empty fireplace. His fingers tap out a rhythm on his knee, the only sign he’s even listening. He hasn’t said much since he’s been back.
“The connection is still there, but she feels more distant than ever.” I add hoping to get more than silence out off him this time.
He nods but his eyes stay fixed ahead, his lips barely move. “Mm-hm.”
“Luke,” I snap, a little more sharply than intended. He only tilts his head and raises an eyebrow. “Aren’t you going to say something?”
He looks at me then, slowly, with a weight that makes my gut twist. “What do you want me to say, son?”
I’m taken aback by his response, as if I’m missing something obvious. “I don’t know,” I admit, feeling small, “some insight?”
Luke shift his gaze back to the floor, lips pressed together like he’s been biting back words this whole time and I wonder again what he meant by get his head on straight. Finally, he exhales, then says simply, “She’s afraid.”
“I know that.” I snap, the very thought of her fear, reawakening it, making it run through me again just like it did that night before she fell asleep on my arm. “I feel that.” I say, staring at the goosebumps rising on my skin. “I just don’t know what to do about it.”
Luke’s eyes flick up again to meet mine, something strange playing there, it’s almost regret. He pauses for a moment, then with a slight smirk that doesn’t reach his eyes he says, “Show her the grav-control.”
Conversations with Logan are invigorating. I’ve missed being able to share the things on my mind, and he seems eager for every detail.
But he has so many questions. I answer him as well as I can, the practice is good or both of us even though he is a quick study. It took me almost half a cycle to figure out the communication part of my connection with Chrys. It took Logan only a few days.
Now he wants to know more about me. He’s gentle, but insistent, and I’m not sure how much longer I can fob him off with vague or half-true references.
The problem is that for this kind of communication to be effective the connection has to be pretty wide open. And I’m not feeling good. My energy is regenerating faster than I can burn it off. No matter what I do, I’m in constant pain and if I open the connection enough to answer Logan’s questions, it’s inevitable that some of that will carry over. I can’t let him know how bad it is until I get it under control.
* * *
“Hey Misty.” Logan says cheerfully entering the gym, holding a couple bottles of water. It looks like he’s fresh from a run, his shirt clinging to him and beads of sweat on his brow.
It’s mid day, and I’ve been on the high bars since dawn. His buoyant energy feels out of place in the quiet focus I’ve been trying to hold onto. I hop down and grab a towel, taking the proffered chilled drink gratefully with a tight smile.
Always so casual, I think, not unkindly, but there’s a heaviness in my chest that refuses to lift. I nod my thanks for the distraction, but my mind is elsewhere, still wrapped around the way my body is burning.
He’s trying, I remind myself. And I know he is. There’s just something about the ease in his step, the lightness in his voice that brushes up against the weight I carry—one he doesn’t yet fully understand. I can’t let him.
I take a breath and project a question mark in his direction wondering why he’s here, careful to keep my frustration to myself. I can sense his good intentions before he speaks. So open.
“I came to show you something.” He says, motioning towards the door, and I follow ambivalent. He’s a little too excited about this.
“This is grav-control,” Logan says bringing up a discrete panel. I sense his enthusiasm, and arch an eyebrow at him, letting my curiosity pass through the connection while withholding my exhaustion. It’s not exactly an easy feat.
I had thought the panel was the thermostat or something. It looks just like my tab, except imbedded. Logan taps a few settings and the lock clicks on the door. Then there’s a flash as the forcefields engage on the windows. The tab shows a sliding scale, set at one with arrows up and down.
“Okay, get ready.” Logan grins at me. I can feel him reaching through our connection, trying to gauge my reaction. I shut him out, just like I have been doing every time he’s pushed my boundaries too far this week.
Logan taps the arrow up. The one turns into one point one. He looks at me expectantly. I don’t understand. He taps up a few more times. The screen reads one point five. Still nothing.
I shift my weight, expecting… something, but I feel the same. My body still aches with too much energy, my muscles are sore, fatigue wrapped tight around them from my practice on the high bars, but I don’t notice any change. I allow a glimmer of restlessness to slip through to him, let him know I’m missing his point.
“One point five.” He says with raised eyebrows and a stupid grin, like it’s supposed to mean something. I feel the pressure of him trying to project an idea through the connection. If I just let him in it’d be clear in a moment, but I can’t risk allowing something to slip through from my side. I don’t react.
“Nothing?” he asks, his voice edging with surprise. I shake my head, still blocking him.
Logan taps the arrow again, holding it until the screen flashes as the number climbs higher: 2.0, 2.5, 3.0.
Suddenly I feel it. A shift in the air like a breath held in the room. It’s subtle, ever so subtle at first. My focus is on keeping my muscles steady, the burn still humming under my skin. I hardly register it physically until it triggers something—a memory, of the light changing from white to blue. I hear the horn from sparring chamber at TTH, and remember the crushing weight that becomes unbearable whenever someone is on the ground. The memory hits hard and fast. My heart starts to race. Logan sees me tense and reaches out through the connection again. I step back, force a steady breath. My legs feel rooted to the mat. My breath catches, the familiar weight starting to press down on my chest.
“You okay?” He asks, his voice softer now, more cautious.
It’s Logan, I tell myself, this is different, and then a slow smile spreads on my face.
I give him a small nod, and send a word in his direction. More.
Logan hesitates, his hand hovering over the panel. “Misty…”
More! I project sharply, cutting through his caution. This is incredible. It’s exactly what I need.
Reluctantly, he taps the arrow again, and the number climbs a little higher. The pull of gravity increases, each breath feels just a little more labored. My body sinks deeper into the mat, but I stand firm. This will work.
Logan’s eyes never leave me. He projects concern. I allow a single idea to pass through—this is good. It’s enough to sway him.
* * *
The garden is a tranquil haven as the sun begins to set, casting a soft, golden light over the stone path. I settle into a long swinging bench under the pergola, feeling the day’s weariness melt away in the serenity around me. Logan pours two cups of tea from the thermos he brought along, and hands one to me. I take it with a nod, grateful for the warmth an sink into the gently sway as he sits down at the other end. My body has cooled, the inner fire finally at a manageable level.
Logan sips his tea. He is thinking about all the things he doesn’t know about me. I sense him holding back from big questions about my past and why I am the way I am. He wishes I would tell him everything, but he won’t push before I’m ready. I’m grateful. I let him feel how tired I am, how happy this moment makes me.
After a while he breaks the comfortable silence with an ironic chuckle. “Isn’t there anything you enjoy doing outside of training?”
I let my gaze wander over the garden, taking in its peaceful beauty. I’m happy now. I project. In quiet places, like this, Where I can think. He laughs softly and shakes his head. “Kind of like when you’re training, only you’re not, huh?”
After another long silence, Logan nods, seemingly lost in thought. “What’s something that makes you feel at ease?”
I smile, and close my eyes for a moment, letting my mind conjure a calming image. A windswept cliff. I send out the gentle gurgle of an icy stream. A cool breeze blowing over fresh snow fills my mental space. It soothes me now like it always has, like being wrapped in a soft blanket. I sense his quiet joy at me letting him know this about me. I let myself revel in it. This is wonderful.
We fall into another comfortable silence, the only sound being the distant murmur of the fountain. When Logan speaks again, his voice holds a thoughtful tone. “You know, Luke’s mountain cabin might be just the kind of place you’re looking for. There’s no grav-gym, but it’s isolated and serene, perfect for focused training. We could visit there, just you and me, use it to set up some challenging exercises.”
My eyes narrow with sudden shock. I feel a surge of alarm and project it, distress clear in my mind. I don’t think that’s a good idea.
Logan turns to look at me with a mix of surprise and concern, setting aside his empty cup to focus only on me. “Why not? It could be a great opportunity for you.”
I feel my mental barriers firm up, as an image of Teag dances once again before my eyes—the way I last saw him, my fireball colliding solidly with his face. I push back against the flow of ideas, hoping the image doesn’t pass to Logan along with my distress. I don’t need another trainer, I project firmly.
There’s concern in Logan’s eyes, mixed with confusion over why I reacted the way I did. He reaches through the connection for the reason, but I hold steady in my resistance, even though it pains me, letting him know clearly that I don’t want to share it yet. He frowns and presses his lips together tightly, then stops pushing.
“Alright, Misty. It’s a boundary. I won’t force you, but I do hope that one day you’ll tell me what really happened to you back there.”
I nod, and settle back into the swing, feeling a wave of relief wash over me as I sense him backing off. He’s sincere. The peaceful ambiance of the garden helps ease the tension, and I take a deep breath, appreciating the moment of understanding between us. Even if my preferences aren’t what he hopes for, he respects them. For now it’s enough.
Luke leans back in his chair, a new book balanced on his knee, and a tumbler of whisky in one hand. He sips quietly now and then, the clink of the ice in the glass and the soft crackle of the fire in the hearth, the only sounds besides the rustle of pages.
I turn the page of my own book without finishing the last few lines. Maybe a fresh paragraph will sink in better than the one I’ve read three times already. It’s an old favorite about a slave and his mistress, but I’ve lost track of where I am in the story, my thoughts wandering back to the moment Misty and I shared in the garden this evening.
“How did you know it would work?” I ask Luke, breaking the silence between us. My voice is casual, almost incidental, as I stretch out in the armchair across from him and glance up, waiting for his answer. It does little to ease the stiffness in my muscles from the short workout this afternoon.
“What do you mean?” Luke asks, turning the page before he looks up.
I lean forward slightly. “Training with the grav-control. How did you know it would help her open up?”
“I didn’t exactly,” Luke responds, cryptic as ever. I sigh and look away, irritated and he relents. “Call it an educated guess. I told you before, I did some digging,” his tone steady, almost too calm for what he's admitting, though his eyes narrow in thought.
“I thought that didn’t work while the subject is asleep?” I say with a half smile, but there’s a sharper edge to my words now. I sit up straighter, the book in my hands forgotten.
Luke sighs closing his book and resting it on his lap before setting his glass on the side table. “It doesn’t always, unless you know exactly what you’re looking for.”
“So you mean you just read my memories, while I slept?” The calm slips from my voice.
“Not yours. Hers,” he meets my gaze, unflinching, and anger flares within me. “I was worried. I had reason to be,” he continues. Somewhere in the back of my mind it registers that Luke being inside Misty’s head is unusual but the turmoil evoked by his admission refuses to allow it to process. I know his worry was our fault, but that doesn’t excuse him from taking advantage of her. “I was beside myself,” his voice drops. “There was no other way.”
“What did you do?”
Next Time: While Misty continues to struggle with her energy regeneration, Logan and Luke discuss what Luke was doing in Misty’s head.
Thanks so much for reading! If you like, please:
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and as always, I love hearing what you think so, feel free to:
These scenes certainly show a great deal of progress with Logan and Misty's relationship, but oh so far to go... And Luke couldn't resist giving Logan a hint that comes from his clandestine access to Misty's mind. Of course, once he opens his secrets stash, he can't seem to deny Logan some level of knowledge of where his insight came from. I think there might be some element of braggadocio going on here. And even though he has allowed Misty a quasi family status, it's clear that he would protect Logan at all costs, Misty not so much!
Ok, soapbox time... Going back to your comments in this days intro, your expression of pride in your creation and the effort that you put into it (btw, why not art?) is hardly evidence of someone who is cavalier about the value of hard work! Living on a farm and raising a family hardly immunizes one from hard work and sacrifice, Jenny!
If 3.5 g's feels good to Misty, Earth's 1.0 must feel like she's flying all the time.
3.5g is more gs than Jupiter, which has 2.5.