Page 42 of Born Reckless

A bell rings above the door when we walk inside. The interior matches the exterior. The walls are all painted black, so is the ceiling. Dramatic black furniture is spread throughout the room. In the center, there is a circular table. Two chairs are pushed up to it, and on its surface is a ridiculous looking glass orb. Deep purple drapes hang from the windows. There is a counter in one corner of the room with a cash register. From this space, there is only one other door.

And right then, a man walks out of it.

For some reason, I was expecting an old crazy man with a long beard and wild hair. For someone who claims to be a medium, I definitely wasn't expecting this guy.

Then again, Mason did say that he is Sigrid's lover.

He looks to be about forty years old. But he is an exceptionally in-shape forty-year-old. He wears well-fitted black jeans, and a black T-shirt that shows every contour of his arms and chest. Hanging from his neck, he wears one single clear crystal. His dark eyes are intense, hooded by heavy eyebrows, his face framed by a perfectly shaped well-kept beard. Thick, wild hair tops his head.

Good grief. Is everyone in Chicago stunningly beautiful?

"Mason," the man says. His voice is friendly enough, though it's rough. "It's good to see you."

"You as well," Mason offers a smile. He extends his hand, and the man shakes it. "This is Juliet Doe." Mason says as he looks back at me. "Juliet, this is Malcolm Talos."

"It's nice to meet you," Malcolm offers. His voice is soothing, friendly, and open. He doesn't sound crazy. He doesn't look crazy either. He looks exactly like someone who could crawl into bed with Sigrid and make her a happy woman.

"You too," I say. And I realize then that he did not extend his hand to me. Not like he did with Mason.

"Mason tells me you've never known who your family is," Malcolm says as he folds his arms over his chest. "If you are comfortable with it, I can try to see if I can get you some answers."

"I…" I shake my head and my heart starts beating even faster. This wasn't something I ever expected. Not knowing who my parents were is just something I have come to accept in life. And now, this can change? "I never considered…"

Mason places a hand on my back, and the gesture is soothing.

"It's okay if you're nervous," Malcolm says. "Most people are a little freaked out when they walk through my door. It's your choice though. If you want answers, I am happy to help. If you aren't ready, I'm here anytime. I'm not going anywhere."

My eyes slide over to Mason's, and I don't know what to say. His expression is open. Maybe slightly apologetic. He really didn't give me much warning before. He offered a few details, and here we are.

But I think of that conversation we had just last night. Where I confessed to him the truth of my past.

Mason can't bring them back from the dead. He can't fix the terrible childhood that I had.

But this is one thing he can do. He can offer me the help of a supernatural being with extraordinary gifts.

He can help me find my answers.

No one has ever done anything so kind for me. So considerate.

"Okay," I say. The word comes out a little rough and a little fractured. But I push aside the fear and anxiety in my stomach.

"Please, have a seat," Malcolm says as he nods at one of the chairs at the table in the center of the room. Mason's hand guides me in that direction, and he pulls it out for me. I sink into it, and he backs up a few steps, his hands folded in front of him. Malcolm pulls out the other chair and sits.

He grabs the crystal orb on the table and sets it on the ground beside his feet. "That does nothing," he says with a chuckle. "It's all just part of the… persona, the experience. People think I need some kind of magic woo-woo object to be able to do what I do. Really, all I have to do is touch you."

Which is why he did not try to shake my hand earlier.

"Alright," I say. I don't know what else to say. I'm so thrown out of my element I don't know how to act or what to do.

Malcolm lays his forearms on the table, his palms facing up. "All you have to do is take my hands." His instructions are simple and calm.

I swallow once and glance back at Mason once again. He simply nods, a tiny, supportive smile on his lips. So, I look back at Malcolm and I take his hands.

My eyes snap closed even though I didn't tell them to. And instantly, a rush of images washes through my brain. They flash so fast that I can't focus on just one. I see a rush of color and gray and black and white. I see motion and stillness and life and death.

"You need to understand," Malcolm says. His voice is even and low. "That I can only see the history of those in your line who are dead. I cannot see those who are still alive."

It's as if I can feel him sifting through my brain. Like he's digging in a bucket full of sand. He searching for all of the different lines that stretch back from me. He's quick and efficient. It's obvious he's done this a hundred times or thousand.