It was not what she'd expected, and her thoughts were suddenly chaotic. “Why?"
"Jasper's using your fear against you, Nikki. He's using past demons to grind down your resistance." She tensed. “What do you mean?"
She knew what he meant. He could see the images in her mind, skittering like scared rabbits. “I mean it's time you faced the past, time for you to let go of the guilt." She was silent for a long moment. Michael held her quietly, listening to the beat of her heart, a rhythm filled with fear.
"Tommy has nothing to do with any of this,” she muttered finally. Heat crept through her cheeks as she looked away. “You've no right to know, no right to ask."
And no right to care. It was a thought that tasted bitter. But one way or another, she had to face the guilt centered around that part of her past, or she would have very little hope of resisting Jasper's final call. In many ways, Jasper represented the darker side of human existence, and guilt was part of that darkness. It drew her into Jasper's sphere of influence, made it all that much easier for him to attack her.
"Jasper wouldn't use Tommy's memory if he didn't think it would help break your spirit, Nikki. It's time you told someone what happened."
Her face was as pale as the tangled sheets beneath them. “If I tell you, will you promise never to bring the subject up again?"
"Yes.” It was an easy thing to promise, given he had no intention of staying around. He might have the desire to stay, but desire was something he rarely gave in to. She stared at her feet. “I met Tommy several months after my parents’ death. I was pretty messed up at the time, and on the run. The authorities wanted to place me with my grandparents, who I'd never met.”
She hesitated, and shrugged. “Tommy led the street gang I started running with." No wonder she'd empathized with Monica. She'd been in much the same situation as the teenager—young and confused, with no one listening to what she wanted. An easy target for evil. Though why she thought Tommy was in the same league as Jasper, he couldn't say. Maybe it was merely a reaction to her memories, her fear.
"How did you meet him?"
She licked her lips. “I was in a store his gang was robbing. One of the kids was bashing the old guy at the register, and I stopped him."
"Kinetically?"
She nodded. “It was the first time it happened. Up until then, I hadn't really done much more than have the occasional dream."
Images of her parents’ death flickered through her mind, images not faded by time or acceptance. She must have dreamed of their deaths. “How old were you?"
"Fourteen."