Listen To The Silence by Sheryl

Transitions

...I'm either going insane or I'm a human wire... receiving a signal...

"What in the world are these people speaking? God..."
Completely unnerved, the flight from NY too long, too tense, uncertainty his constant companion, he felt his grip unraveling. If someone would just say something he could understand...
His helpless laugh echoes in his own ears as he shoulders his bag, grunting a little under the strain.
"They should make bags lighter, shouldn't they?"
The voice, soft in his ear in the midst of Heathrow chaos, sends a little rill of panic through him. In his keyed up state it's almost all he can do to bite back a screech.
"Sorry, sorry... your mother really sent you."
Amusement in the voice, he turns, find the source. He knows without knowing, recognition instant, though this is the first time his eyes have ever seen this face.
"Jordan..." An absurd urge to hug him flairs, fails to make itself manifest, fades.
The young man smiles, dark hair falling into his eyes, comical and normal, making the boy grin. Nothing to be afraid of after all.
"In the flesh. It is... wonderful... to finally meet you. Give me that before you fall over... how long did it take her to put you on the plane?."
"She threw me on as soon as I could stand up, man I can't believe you know my MOM... thanks for not making me shake hands..."
"Ah yes, I remember. Your uncivilized opposition to handshaking... wait... wait let's see if I remember."
He shrugs the bag onto his shoulder, beckoning the boy to follow, eyes exaggeratedly skyward, as if the memory he searches for is above him...
"You don't like to shake hands because you don't know where those hands have  been... and you're not at all agreeable about the idea of having to clutch some strangers sweaty palm." His grin matches the laugh in his voice, and the boy looks away, blushing through his own smile.
"No, no need to feel picked on, I don't guess I'd be thrilled about gripping the paw of some bloke that just came out of the lavatory myself! I notice though you don't mind me touching your THINGS here, such things as appear to be full of brick I might add."
"Books."
"Books?"
"Lot's of them... my mom y'know, she doesn't want me to neglect my mind or anything."
"You're mind can't possibly hold this much."
"Well how far away is the car?"
"C lot, about halfway to Sheffield."
"Could we stop and get a drink or something?"
The breathless quality of the boy's voice stops him, and he looks carefully, noting the pallor.

"If you don't mind my saying so... you don't look particularly well, are you ok?"
The boy's nods, scowling.
"Yeah, I'm just dizzy from the plane. I don't want to get sick, so if we could just gimme a second to get my land legs I'd really..."
"Not a problem, there's a Baileys on the next level."
"Can I talk to you then?"
"No, lad, you're here to be silent."
His chiding is affectionate, and the boy smiles faintly. It's going to take a while, he knows, to get to know this man. Mental knowledge and physical presence seem drastically separate.
Sighing, falling into step, he rubs his eyes, too many lights and colors jumping at him. There seems a solid wall of noise, all of it unintelligible, brilliant cacophony of chaos... and the signs had him baffled.
"Jordan!"
"Hmm?"
"Look at that sign."
"Which one?"
"The one that says "pub"."
"What of it?"
"It's pointing to a brick wall."
"Oh..." The grin breaks out again. "Yeah... they do things like that here, we don't really know why. Some sort of law of the universe, or maybe it's got something to do with someone's probability field..."
His grin is smug, and the boy steps up, not about to let him think he's got anything over him.
"The Long Dark Teatime of the Soul. I thought he made it all up, about the signs, though..."
"You read Adams??"
"Surprised?"
"Yes! And now you see, he wasn't the brilliant wit you thought he was, he just had a few too many frequent flier miles! Come on then, there's Baileys..."

********************

Headlights splash on the face of the boy, illuminating sooty lashes on fair cheeks.  Sleeping.
Jordan's smile is pained. That such innocence has to end... still it's good that he's asleep. God knows he's done himself enough harm, he needs to sleep to heal.
So many questions, so many half truths and hidden answers. Of course he'd wanted to know about his mother, how had she known Jordan, why had she sent him to them, could she do what he could do... endless questions... if only he'd been able to answer them all. The time would come, all too soon, when the boy would know, when all of the questions would be answered, at the expense of that lovely look of child-like peace on his sleeping face.
"Oh, lad, would that your dreams would remain so untroubled..."
His finger brushes away a wisp of hair, then his eyes turn back to the road. So many changes now, so much in the air, and this poor boy, sent to them for protection, right in the middle of it.
That his conscience is clear is no comfort to him. Yes he'd told the boy's mother what they were facing, and she, with her memories and her knowledge and her hereditaries power, had known. That though they would protect him with everything they had, he would still be in danger, no matter where he was, his mind a beacon. And that they would use him, work him, make him one of them. Her consent meant little... more he would have liked reassurance, that this was not the last peaceful sleep this boy would have.

;Drairswood;

The sign gleamed suddenly, out of the darkness, interrupting his revery. Home.
He turnes in, unconsciously reaching out a hand to the boy's chest, mindful as they all were of the pinhook curve, the boy's eyes fluttering open briefly, his hand reaching up to touch Jordan's. "S'okay, not goin' anyplace..."
The warmth of his hand, the trust in his voice, both arrows into Jordan's heart, and he felt unwilling tears prick his eyes as he pulled the car next to the house and took the gently grasping hand, shaking the boy fully awake.

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