The Library of Powers

Chapter 17 - Part 3

Jackson's street was pitch black broken by dim streetlamps spaced too far apart. It was the kind of street you weren't expected to be walking at night, or at least the City Planner had assumed those outside around at this hour would have car headlights to guide their way. Instead, Jackson and Ivory's phone lights shone their path to Jackson's front door. He quickly unlocked it and ushered them inside.

With a flip of a switch, it was like they were never lacking for sight at all. Jackson kept the 2-story tidy but cozy. Another meditative exercise for him, to pass the time. He wondered if most of his life was taken up by route tasks. Perhaps everyone's was.

"Nice place," Ivory told him.

Jackson nodded, "Thanks."

Ivory threw her backpack on the couch and made herself at home. "So, why isn't anyone ever here again?" She gestured at the walls, filled with photos of his family. Mom, Dad, Him.

"They were called in for the Miami disaster," he started.

"Yeah," she cut him off, "But why aren't you with them?"

"Well, uh," he hesitated. If he could trust anyone, he could trust Ivory. "Their job is fairly sensitive, and I was just starting Junior year so they didn't want to tear me out of class, but uh," he decided to dispense with talking around the subject, "They're Containment Crew. You know, going into the blast zone and looking for Florence Elbaum. And Containment Crew are often targeted by Sympathizers, and so they have to go undercover, and so they didn't want to have to put me undercover too, and so I stayed behind."

He deflated, and flopped onto the couch next to her. She turned to face him. "Shit, man. I'm sorry."

"What's there to be sorry about?" he challenged.

Ivory shrugged, "I don't know, life?"

He snorted. Standing up, he pointed to the stairs. "Let me show you to your room."

She obliged, standing up. He started up the stairs, the family photos tapering off, revealing sparse walls. At the top, he led her past his room, the bathroom, and his parent's room to a door at the very end of the hall. It creaked open to reveal the guest room.

"Here we are," he announced, walking into the room. It was fairly bare, a Queen-sized bed and large wooden dresser taking up the majority of the space. There was a window, but it looked out at their neighbors, not the city. There was a vase sitting atop the dresser, some decrepit flower leaning out of it, long dead. Jackson quickly snatched the vase. "Sorry about that,"

"It's cool," Ivory told him. She put her backpack at the base of the bed.

"I should have contact solution, my Mom's, but I don't know if it's still good. Does it even go bad?" he mused, "Anyway, feel free to use anything in the bathroom or kitchen. I shower pretty early in the morning, so I don't think it will cause problems."

She waved him off. "I'm a night showerer anyway. I'm up so late and get so sweaty with superhero work that it's kinda a necessity."

Jackson wondered if he should start doing that. His costume did get pretty stuffy.

Ivory continued, "If you don't mind, I need to change."

Jackson nodded, "Of course, Goodnight, Ivy." He started to close the door.

"Jackson," Ivory said. He stopped. "Thank you."

He nodded again, with a small smile. "Anything for a friend."

He closed the door.

***

Later that night, Jackson heard a loud thunk. It didn't wake him, nothing could wake him when he "slept". The Library of Powers didn't give Jackson any indication as to what was happening in the real world.  Jackson was already awake, headed back from the bathroom. Another thing The Library of Powers didn't do much to help him with. He was a good twenty-minute walk away from the nearest toilet when he caught the urge, and decided it was less hassle to just wake up.

He had been scouring bookshelves in The Library, looking for anything on Mary Fletcher. In a stroke of luck he found a Bernard Harbour phonebook from around that time, but there was no entry at "Fletcher, M". His current hunch was she lived in Vera City or another suburb and commuted to work, but he had yet to find a way to prove his theory.

The thunk came from the general direction of Ivory's room, so he got up to make sure she was okay. He was wearing light blue pajamas patterned with dinosaurs he sorely hoped Ivory wouldn't be able to see in the dark.

He lightly knocked on her door. After a moment, he heard a muffled "Come in."

Taking her affirmation, he opened her door to find Ivory, in the soft light of the moon, hauling something huge through Jackson's window.

"What the-" he started, but Ivory cut him off. "I caught and took down a drug deal. The dealer had this in his trunk!" she exclaimed. Finally falling to the floor was a monstrosity of a duffel bag. Easily the size of a person, its rough canvas had strange lettering printed on all sides.

"You went out and fought crime without me?" Jackson asked. He recoiled just a bit, hiding himself in the shadow cast by the doorway.

She leaned down to inspect the bag. "I needed some time alone. To think. Work through some shit."

"It's not healthy to work through issues by beating people up."

"Well, it works for me," she finally figured out how to open the bag, "Aww, just more drugs. I'll drop it at the station tomorrow."

Why was she not listening to him? He didn't want to push her too hard, but it was so obviously bad. Her attitude towards crime-fighting had been so wonky lately, what happened?

He stopped himself. He was tired and didn't want to say something he didn't mean. "Goodnight, Ivory," he said for the second time that night.

"Goodnight," she replied, "And oh, Jackson."

"Yes?"

"Nice Pajamas"

"How can you?"

"You forgot that I don't need night vision glasses like you," she tapped her temple, "I've got it built-in."