Watcher's Web

Watcher's Web Chapter 6

Chapter 6

White hair? That was ridiculous. No one had white hair except elves in fairytales. No one under forty at any rate.

Well, she had to hand it to him—without that dye he looked younger, his face kind of high-class with a long, straight nose, high cheekbones and thin, but well-defined lips. His eyes were closed, his eyelashes half-moon crescents of silver hair. His eyebrows, too, had turned white. Albino. 

He was handsome. Not drop-dead gorgeous like some sultry-eyed teenage football hero who’d be arrested for drunk behaviour and groping women by the time he was twenty-five, and fat and ugly by the time he was thirty, but the type of handsomeness that didn’t age.

But why the disguise?

Who the bloody hell was he with his dyed hair and his accent and his evasive replies? Why was he on the flight, why had he suggested the pilot wait for her? Why did he seem to notice things about her other people didn't and ignore things that other people mentioned? Did he perhaps have anything to do with … the plane crashing, with the web, with the male voice on the other end?

As quietly as she could, she crossed the space between them and crouched on the moss next to him.

She breathed out slowly, and let the strands of mist flow from her, tentative. The blue mist snaked around his sleeping form, caressing him like ghostly fingers. It wasn’t right, using it on a person, and it was something she hadn’t done for a long time. He might notice; she might find out something she’d rather not know. Worse, she might go too far and that thought sent shivers along her spine. Back in the time of innocence, she had done so many things that still gave her nightmares. She had never known what harm these threads could cause until it was too late.  The mist was weak—she needed energy, sunlight, food to work this trick. The strands snaked over his jacket, and sought out the warmth of his skin. Buried in his arm.

She braced for the onslaught of memories she was about to face. Animals were easy—their emotions were simple, but people … Painful and ugly memories, heartbreak, lies and treason, that was the kind of shit people’s minds unleashed. Once she had probed a classmate, and had hurt for days with what she had found in the girl’s memories. Adults actually did that to their children?

But with Brian … nothing came.

He had no thoughts, no dreams. What the hell? Everyone had dreams, even if they didn’t remember them. How could he have no thoughts? He’d have to be dead or for some reason his thoughts were inaccessible to her. She stared, heart thudding, trying to think of reasons, other than that he had some sort of training in avoiding having his thoughts probed.

His chest moved with a deep breath. In-out. The exhaled air ticked over her hands like a horse’s swishing tail. He stirred and mumbled. As Jessica retreated, he opened his eyes and stared at her as if he knew she’d been doing something.

 "Good morning. Slept well?" Her voice sounded too high.

He sat up, groaning. "I’m sore everywhere." He frowned at her. "Is anything wrong? Did I say something?"

"No."

Jessica couldn’t meet his eyes, and turned to her pack instead. She trembled. Who was this man?

"I think we’d better be going."

Shit. He was going to notice that his hair had turned white, and wonder why she hadn’t said anything. It was the sort of thing she would comment on, in a normal situation.

She heaved the pack up. Her shoulders protested with a stab of pain. God, not more hills to climb. More moss boulders, more tangled tree roots, there was no end to it. She peered at the tree canopy, trying to determine the direction of the sun. West—the direction they had been heading since leaving the wreck. She plodded off, but after a few paces noticed the absence of footsteps behind her. Brian still stood at the creek bank, his face turned up, looking at the tree canopy.