Traveler trilogy Book 2.
Five years after killing Levi Cornwall, Arthur Morgan is happy. He has a wife who loves him, an honest job he enjoys, and two beautiful children named Sadie and Hiram. All of it is turned on its head, however, when Francis S...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Francis woke the morning after the oilfield raid feeling nauseous. Sleep no longer offered him rest, and that morning when he woke up, he found himself lying with a small puddle of blood beneath his head where it had leaked from his ears and nose during the night. He could taste the rusty, salty flavor of it in the back of his throat, and he guessed he'd accidentally swallowed a fair amount of it, leading to the aforementioned nausea on top of the extreme exhaustion.
His whole body felt sore as well, as though he'd just finished running a marathon. His bones ached, and it was all he could do to haul himself to a sitting position. After managing to swing his legs over the edge of the bed, Francis sat for a minute in the gray light of the dawn with his head in his hands and his elbows resting on his knee.
Jackson stirred behind him, and Francis looked up again when he heard Jackson whisper, "Jesus," in a worried tone.
"What the hell is this?" Jackson asked in alarm, sitting up and looking at the blood on Francis' pillow. "Is this... Babe, you're not well." He massaged Francis' shoulders with concern.
Francis sighed deeply and relaxed into Jackson's touch. The massage felt good on his fatigued body, even if deep down, Francis knew it would do no good.
"No, I'm not," was Francis' reply. "I didn't tell you before, but I saw my aunt and my father the other day, and I learned that I'm currently the only thing keeping reality from tearing apart. It's straining me and giving me nosebleeds. This is the first time it's come out of my ears too, though."
Jackson kissed Francis' bare shoulder and continued rubbing them gently. "Why didn't you tell me? How is that even possible?"
"I don't know how it's possible, really," Francis admitted. "I'm not consciously aware of how I'm doing it. My best guess is that it has to do with the love I have for you all, like how I was able to stop that knife from falling into your foot a couple of months ago. I have these abilities, but the cost of also being human is that I have no way to purposefully control them. It's all subconscious, and I can't get a handle on them no matter how hard I try."
"Jesus," Jackson whispered again. "No wonder you've looked so tired lately. I wish you would have told me."
"What could you have done?" Francis asked sadly. "I possess the power of a god in the body of a man, I've got no idea how to control it or even if I have the ability to control it, and without me this will all collapse into nothing. All it would have done was worry you if I'd said anything."
"Maybe," Jackson sighed. "You know I like to worry about you. But then you wouldn't have to carry the weight of the world on your shoulders all by yourself. Your entire profession is built around the premise that talking about your problems helps."
"Not my entire profession," Francis joked, grinning slightly. "Remember, the only reason I don't practice other types of medicine back home is that modern medical school is too long and complicated. Being a psychiatrist is much easier."
