Gaslighter

1 The Negative Affirmation-2

Jonah was very pleased about it, no doubt about that. He'd always been between twenty and thirty pounds overweight throughout his life, so the fact that he was nearer to a flat stomach now than he'd ever been in his life was a great thing. The-not-so-pleasing part of the thing was the fact that, through his whole weight loss process, he'd discovered that it was simply wasn't in his genes to have a washboard stomach, or even visible abs. It wasn't a huge blow or anything such as that. It wasn't ever Jonah's life ambition to grace the cover of Muscle and Fitness, anyway. It was just that Reena had almost convinced him that through fitness gains, the sky was the limit. For his stomach, however, it seemed that the limit was the sky. Oh well.

Jonah's eyes rose back to his face, and he pondered the second change.

He'd grown a beard.

It wasn't even a deliberate thing. It was more attributed to laziness than anything else. But it was a new dynamic. The facial hair was nothing dramatic or overly dignified, but it did make him look older, more mature. It made it look as though life had shown him a thing or two. And that was a good thing, because that dream scared the hell out of him.

“Just great,” he muttered to his reflection. “What is a summer without s**t?”

Jonah managed to get back to sleep for several more hours before he officially began the day. He showered, dressed, straightened up the bed out of respect for the incoming maid, and checked out of the motel. It was the last day of the “vacation” that Jonathan mandated. He was cool with the fact that it was over, but he had to admit that he'd taken a great liking to this final stop.

The town, Coastal Shores, was mere miles from Manteo, and very quiet. Maybe twenty-eight hundred people resided there, which made it even smaller than Rome. But as Jonah took in the morning sun and the ocean, he couldn't make a single complaint about the place.

Despite his newfound affection for the place, Jonah still felt that it was time to return home. And it wasn't because of the dream.

Throughout his road-tripping, he'd stayed in contact with Terrence and Reena. Even though they'd always kept the conversation short out of respect for his being on “vacation,” they'd kept him up on things around Rome. There had been nothing of note to report on their end, which relieved Jonah because his friends hadn't experienced any discord, but also unnerved him because it felt like Creyton wanted to lure them into a false sense of security while he and his disciples planned something even worse than what they had the last time. But Terrence and Reena hadn't spoken of anything sinister; Terrence spoke about helping the other janitors get the high school ready for the kids to come back at the end of summer break, while Reena spoke about assisting Kendall in self-defense now that she knew about the Eleventh Percent.

But something had changed in the past few weeks. Terrence and Reena were still upbeat and cheerful whenever Jonah spoke to them, but something in their voices was different. The positivity seemed a bit contrived at times. It was nothing obvious, but Jonah knew his brother and sister well. And he also knew a falsely cheerful voice when he heard it due to the fact that he had so much experience with using one himself.

Jonah wanted to know what was bothering them, but he also knew why they chose to hold back on him. Jonathan had probably told them that giving him negative information would be antithetical to his time away. But, oddly enough, Jonah didn't know how appreciative of that he was. He was beyond grateful for the time to collect his thoughts, but the estate was his home, too. He wanted to be in the know as much as everyone else. Especially if they really needed him. He still couldn't believe that Creyton had figured out that phobia.

Task at hand, Jonah, he reminded himself rather forcefully, but seconds later, he sighed.

The night he'd escaped Creyton and the Deadfallen disciples, he'd used anger to offset his fear and worry. It'd worked well enough, so he'd attempted the same approach whenever Creyton fell on his mind. But the tactic that saved his physical life that night just wasn't a healthy one to do in everyday life. He wasn't in threatening situations on the pier. Or at the beach. Or at the movies.

Or at breakfast in a diner, where a waiter had just seen his momentary scowl and began to back away in apprehension.

Smooth.

“I really wasn't trying to bother you, sir,” said the waiter meekly. “I was just trying to make small talk, forgive my curiosity—”

“No, no,” said Jonah hastily, “I wasn't even listening—”

The man deflated, and Jonah sucked his teeth. Not a great thing to say.

“You didn't hear anything I said?” said the waiter, who looked forlorn.

“I didn't mean it like that, sir.” Jonah shook his head so as to play up the confusion of the situation. “I didn't mean that I was ignoring you, it was just—just a brief bout of reticence. I've got a lot on my mind.”

Jonah waited, and breathed a sigh of relief when the man looked less depressed.

“Is that right, son?” he asked, sounding rather surprised. “You don't look like you're old enough to have a mind full of stress. Don't look like you've been in the world long enough to even have enough life to analyze.”

Jonah gritted his teeth. It aggravated him something fierce when older people said things like that. He'd just turned twenty-six, and that was more than enough life to analyze. Hell, he had enough life to analyze with just the three years he'd known he was an Eleventh Percenter. “Right,” he mumbled. “Now, what was it that you asked me?”

“I was asking you if you were thinking of putting down roots down in Coastal Shores, or were you just passing through?” said the waiter.

“Just passing through,” replied Jonah. “Took the whole summer to myself to quiet my brain. De-stress and all that. Been throughout the Outer Banks, and Coastal Shores is my last stop before going back home.”

The waiter nodded as he topped off Jonah's iced tea. “I've always said that young people move through life too fast,” he remarked. “But I promise you that there isn't anything going on in your life that church can't fix.”

Jonah swallowed. Not one of those types. “I suppose you're right.”

The waiter regarded Jonah with narrow eyes. “You religious?”

“Not in any real sense,” said Jonah, trying hard not to roll his eyes, “but I go to church.”

“Really?” The waiter didn't even say it like a question. “What's the name?”

Jonah started to think that maybe he should have allowed the man to think that he was reticent a few minutes ago. “Serenity Road Faith Haven,” he muttered. “Senior Pastor is Cassius Abbott.”

Jonah waited with almost bated breath as the man regarded him further. But then he nodded, and he breathed a sigh of relief.

“You've got a good foundation, son,” he said. “Get more involved, and you'll be fine.”

“Right,” said Jonah, mentally willing the man to leave.

Mercifully, the man remembered that he had a job, and left Jonah be. He glared after him for a moment. Some people in the world were just so damn nosy. And of course the nosiness had to be followed by free advice. If the man had known who Jonah truly was, then he would know it would take more than couple Sunday morning invocations to assuage his issues.

He was just about get up and pay his bill when a man lowered himself into the booth. He was lanky and thin, and stank of cigarettes and beer. The color of his stained teeth went along with that. His hair was a rat's nest, and his beard looked as though it could comfortably lodge a flock of birds. His presence annoyed Jonah even further.

Great. First, the religion-fixated waiter wanted to help me with salvation, and now the town drunk wanted a meal.

“Look, man—”

“Silence, Rowe,” hissed the man as he bared those nicotine-stained teeth.

Jonah's eyes hardened for a half-second, but then he realized the guy referred to him by his last name. Now every sense was on alert. “How did you know my name?” he demanded. “What do you want?”

The man looked at Jonah with a kind of hungry delight. “Nothing in particular. Just having some fun by showing you how easy it is for you to be gotten to.”

Instinctively, Jonah moved a hand to his pockets, where his batons lay, but the man shook his head warningly.

“I wouldn't do that if I were you,” he said quietly. “One wrong move, and I'll kill everyone in this place. Surely you don't want another diner m******e, do you?”

Jonah's eyes widened. “Creyton—”

“The Transcendent,” corrected the man.

“Yeah, him,” snapped Jonah. “He wouldn't appreciate you drawing attention to yourself like this.”

It was a gamble. Jonah hoped that it was true.

The man chuckled, and then a middle-aged woman sitting near the bar shook her head slightly and coughed. The man with her looked at her in concern.

“Honey? What's wrong?” he asked.

“I…I don't know,” responded the woman. “I couldn't catch my breath for a moment. Think I might need my inhaler.”

The woman's husband patted her back, still looking concerned. Jonah looked at the man in front of him utter horror. He was still chuckling.

“Who's drawing attention?” he asked politely. “As quietly as a rat, I could bring about a repeat of the Crystal Diner. And I know you don't want that, Rowe.”

Jonah used every ounce of resolve he possessed as removed his hand from his pocket. The man smiled evilly, like he was in total control.

“Backup is an option for me as well, just so you know.” He pointed to bruising at his throat. “You're outnumbered, unendowed, and stuck in the middle of all these precious, delicate Ungifteds. So if you want them to be safe, you will sit there like a good little boy.”

Jonah's fingers gripped the table. If everything this Deadfallen disciple said was true, then there was nothing he could do without endangering the Tenths around him. Why did he stop here for food? Why didn't he just roll on back to Rome? These two dozen people in this diner would be safe right now if he'd done just that.

No. This stupid disciple of Creyton was the one endangering people. He had his finger on the proverbial trigger, not Jonah.

“This isn't about any of them.” Jonah kept his voice very quiet, so as to not bring attention to the two of them. “Let's step outside, and handle this there.”

The man flashed those badly stained teeth again. “No thank you,” he said gleefully. “Now answer this question: Did you have the dream?”

Jonah's eyes widened. There was no way he could know about that.

The man smiled. “I can see by your expression that you did have it,” he said. “That's all I wanted to know.”

And the bastard actually rose to leave. Jonah looked at him, shocked. Was he serious?

“Oh, hell no,” he snapped. “What was that dream supposed to mean?”

The man ignored him and headed for the exit. Jonah, temper and alarm rising with each passing second, followed him.

“What does it mean?” he demanded. “Answer me!”

The man said nothing, but Jonah distinctly heard another chuckle. That pissed him off even more.

“You hear me talking to you?” snarled Jonah, who didn't really notice that his words were now attracting stares. “You will not leave here without answering me!”

He reached for the guy's shoulder, but then the woman at the bar started having breathing issues once more. Jonah looked at her, concerned, but then his expression returned to anger once he looked at the man again.

“Stop that!”

The man's chuckle became a full on laugh.

“Leave her alone! If you want a victim, take me!”

More laughter.

And that was when Jonah lost it.

He threw a wild haymaker. The man slammed against the wall before he slid down to the floor. There were exclamations of shock and horror, but Jonah turned his attention to the woman who'd had her breathing obstructed.

“Ma'am! Are you okay—?”

But strangely, the woman's husband shielded his wife from Jonah, looking ready to throw a punch of his own. “Don't you come near her!” he yelled.

Jonah looked at him in confusion. “What? I meant no harm, sir!”

“No harm?” repeated the pious waiter in disbelief. “Are you joking?”

Jonah frowned, but then realized the situation. “You don't understand!” he tried to shout over the angered and panicked people. “That man over there was—”

He paused. What could he tell them? They wouldn't believe a word of it. Plus it seemed like they'd formed their own opinions of Jonah anyway.

He looked at the man on the floor, whom (conveniently) no one paid any attention to. But Jonah wasn't thinking about them at the moment.

The man rubbed his throat roughly…and wiped away the bruise. It had been makeup.

Makeup?

The guy's bloodied visage showed nothing but joy as he glanced outside. Jonah did the same.

A woman stood outside, calmly resting her weight against a trucker's rig. She ignored the commotion completely and looked straight at Jonah.

It was a white-haired woman. India Drew, one of Creyton's Deadfallen disciples.

She smiled widely as she gave Jonah a mock salute, and then—nothing could have prepared Jonah for what she did next—shape-shifted into a crow. She literally shrank into that accursed avian shape in the span of three seconds, cawed once, and took flight. Her bloody-nosed accomplice slunk out of the diner's entrance, but no one was the wiser.

And Jonah was in the middle of the diner, having just assaulted someone in front of multiple witnesses and having no explanation to give.

The fresh hell had descended. On the very last day of his vacation, his negative affirmation had come true.