Page Two
Wynn could hear his own heart thumping distantly in his ears as he was led down the corridor to his parents' bedroom. "Jack?" His mother called softly. "Jack, would you talk to Wynn?" "Take the freak away. We don't have time for this." Was the rough reply. "You'll feel better if you do, honey." There was a fraught silence. "You need to be calm to think straight. You'll do better if you - " "All right. Shut up and send him in. Make sure Zorada's ready." Marina gave Wynn a push through the half open door, and went to do as she was told. Jack eyed his son with disgust. "Come here." He commanded. "No." Wynn whispered through dry lips. "Leave me alone." Jack stood frowning, towering over the child. "I have to damn well put up with your shit." The boy winced; Marina did not approve of swearing in her household. "Now - you come here and do your thing so we can get out of here." He reached his hands out, and Wynn took them reluctantly, shutting his eyes tightly and wincing as if he expected to be hit. There was never any physical abuse involved, but that would have been no less difficult for him to deal with. After a while Jack was satisfied, and let go, turning his back on the boy. Wynn stared silently up at him, and he looked round. "Go on. Get out of here. Go pack your things." He watched his son waver uncertainly, then turn and leave without saying anything. Zorada was waiting on the landing to make sure he was together enough to finish packing. His state of mind varied following such events. Marina paused outside the room, looking after her two children, then went in to find Jack smiling slightly. He looked so much more handsome when he smiled, she thought. "That kid does have his uses." He sighed, stretching his arms out above his head. "Oh, you have no idea what a gift he's got." He sneered the word, as if mocking her for calling it that. He preferred to think of it as a business asset. "He does come and talk to me sometimes in the evenings after I've come in from work." She admitted. "I think he uses it then, unconsciously probably. He's amazing. What would we do without him?" "Is everything packed up?" He asked briskly, not willing to admit just how dependant he was on his son's strange talent. "I have a lot of stuff ready-packed," she told him coolly, "since I know this sort of thing is always likely to happen at short notice." He took the dig with good grace, rather than flying into a rage as he would have done a few minutes previously. "I can get the rest packed pretty quickly, the children will be almost ready." He was over by the window, peering out, up and down the street. There was no-one there, of course. He would know if they came.
