Page 38 of Freedom
The coals had just reached a nice glow when Jake swung out through the porch screen door. “We got the table set, anything else you need done?”
Roger gave him a look, tempted to run the holy water test again. The last time Jake Hawthorne had been this helpful about the house was just about never. “I’ll let you know.”
Jake hovered on the porch a few moments more before returning—more slowly—to his charge inside. Roger exhaled, muttering to himself while laying out the steaks.
~*~
Jake had handed Tobiasplates, silverware, and napkins, so Tobias had set them out—three sets of each, three places set at geometric angles on the table—with hands that shook only a little. He had prepared the dinner table for the Director and his guests, so he knew where the spoons went (ridiculously easy with only one knife, spoon, and fork per plate), how to line them up evenly. But no matter how straight and clean the settings were, the number didn’t make any more sense. Neither Jake nor Hunter Harper had mentioned a third hunter in the house, and Jake had never once had Tobias set an empty place—he shouldn’t try to anticipate, the Director had taught him that along with the name, use, and proper placement of a salad fork—and by that logic, the third place was for Tobias. To sit across from a hunter as they ate.
Or maybe he’d eat after Hunter Harper and Jake did. That would make more sense.
Jake always ate with Tobias, but surely that would change in the company of another hunter. Propriety, decency, and basic respect had already been pressed to the limit, if not beyond, just by allowing a monster in a hunter’s home and giving him the privileges of a real, to sit on the furniture and drink with them. Some lines had to be kept. Maybe he would be allowed to eat at the same time but sit on the floor at Jake’s feet. That would be a kindness. He could handle that.Please.
“Looks pretty impressive.”
He jumped, realizing a second too late he shouldn’t have. He hadn’t flinched at Jake’s voice for weeks. Jake wouldn’t like it, and it was just another mistake at the wrong time and place.
“Whoa, whoa.” Jake set down the chair he was carrying—a third chair for the three place settings, for three people,please no, Jake—and reached for him, slow and cautious. Tobias forced his breathing to even out, forced himself to be still as Jake touched his arms, rubbing them. “It’s gonna be okay, Toby.”
Though it made it impossible to control his breathing (gasping, gagged, filthy monster doesn’t deserve air), Tobias made himself look Jake in the eye. Jake looked tired and sad, but his hands on Tobias’s arms stayed slow and even and didn’t let go. “You’re doing real good, I promise. Nothing’s gonna happen. We’ll have dinner, take it easy tonight, and then get some shut-eye. You got nothing to worry about.”
Tobias nodded mechanically. He wanted to answer Jake, tell him that he was listening and Jake’s words weren’t wasted, that he would always do what Jake said to the best of his ability (he was a good monster, really, he wanted to be), but he didn’t trust his voice to say the words without making Jake even more upset.
Then Hunter Harper yelled from outdoors, “Could you grab me some plates?” and Tobias jumped, even with Jake’s hands on him. He squeezed his eyes shut and tilted his head back, pulling in deep breaths.
Jake sighed and squeezed his forearms once. “I’ll be right back.”
Tobias was glad Jake hadn’t asked him to bring them out, even if it should have been him. He’d caught one glimpse of the hunter stoking red coals with a long metal skewer, and the sight had been familiar enough to stop his breath. He didn’t want to go outside. He could only hope he’d be able to eat whatever he was given.
Hunter Harper and Jake came in a minute later, carrying plates of charred meat, round brown potatoes, and corn on the cob, the last of which Tobias recognized from pictures. He stood uncertainly near the kitchen wall until Jake said, “Go ahead and take a seat, Tobias.”
The three chairs at the table were the only ones in the room. Tobias couldn’t pretend he didn’t know what Jake meant. Hoping no one noticed his hand trembling, Tobias drew out the closest chair and slowly, stiffly sat down.
Jake crouched at the fridge, pushing around bottles. “Don’t you got any A1 or 57 sauce? Anything other than that Worcestershire crap, Roger?”
“What I got is what I got,” Hunter Harper answered shortly. He rinsed his hands at the sink, came back, and dropped heavily into another chair.
Tobias bolted, throwing himself backward and nearly knocking his seat over. He didn’t stop until his back found the wall, and then he stood there, shaking, unable to stop, eyes fixed on his hands. He couldn’t stop anything. He knew he was disappointing Jake even when all he had asked from Tobias was to behave just a little like a real. Yet Tobias couldn’t control his own body, the stifling panic that threatened to close his throat and that had made his body spasm as if he had just been touched with a cattle prod.
Monsters do not sit with reals.
The room was dead silent. Not a sound except Tobias’s own breathing and heartbeat, pulsing loud in his ears. He shut his eyes as despair took him; that was it, surely. Jake couldn’t overlook this demonstration of weakness and insubordination in front of another hunter.
Jake’s footsteps crossed the kitchen and stopped in front of him. Tobias hadn’t apologized yet today, but he couldn’t even open his mouth to try to work his throat. He didn’t deserve to beg.
Then one of Jake’s hands closed over his, as gently as before, while his other warm hand settled on the back of Tobias’s neck. “Hey,” Jake said, his voice pitched as low and soothing as when it was just the two of them and Tobias couldn’t untangle himself from nightmares and the memory of so many other hands on him. “Hey, it’s all right. You’re doing just fine. Just you, me, and Roger, and the only thing we’re gonna do is sit down for some dinner, okay? That’s all that’s going on. If you can’t eat, that’s okay too, we’ll wrap it up for later. Can you come sit by me, Toby?”
Tobias exhaled shakily. He didn’t know how Jake’s touch and voice made it easier to breathe, but they did, and he could focus on Jake’s directions instead of his horrible, unpardonable behavior. He nodded, still unable to raise his head, and Jake squeezed the back of his neck.
“Good,” he said, and incredibly he did sound glad, relieved. “Good, that’s good. We’re all right.” He led him back to the table and moved Tobias’s chair closer to his own, never lifting his hand from Tobias’s shoulder, but Tobias’s stupid feet still balked in front of his chair. Yet somehow Jake understood without rage, without pain, without recrimination. “You okay with Toby joining us, Rog?”
“Yeah,” Hunter Harper said. His tone was unnervingly flat, but he didn’t hesitate. “That’s just fine with me.”
At last, Tobias could force himself to sit. The first few seconds, he remained frozen and rigid as the wood pressed against his back. Jake’s hand slipped from his neck, but his knee bumped against Tobias’s, and Tobias focused on that and not his racing heart, nor the brown eyes watching him. Silverware clinked, voices rumbled quietly (no questions, no threats, no orders), and slowly Tobias forced his muscles to unlock. He breathed, flexing his fingers, and Jake passed him a small steak, half a corn on the cob, and a potato.
He was expected to eat. Compared to sitting with them, that wasn’t hard in the least. He picked up the fork and knife carefully and used them to cut apart the food on his plate. He had mastered those real skills, at least. His countless failures today made it clear he would never pass in any other way, but at least he wouldn’t disgust Jake now by eating like a freak.
He had lost all control, and he hoped Jake would punish him later. Punish him how a hunter should, until the white-hot pain blotted out failure, shame, and fear. Until he felt nothing but the hard, unmerciful floor beneath him. Until he’d been reduced to nothing but the essential truths of what he was, where he belonged, and what he deserved. He shouldn’t have forgotten. It had been disastrous stupidity to ever put it aside.
