Old Wounds

by Ren Hamilton

  But Patrick wasn’t the only life raft she’d clung to recently...

  Setting down the remote, she pulled her knees up. Ignoring the ice cream, she picked up the glass of wine and took a swallow. The memories were strong tonight, stronger than they’d been in some time, almost as if she could sense something coming. Something involving them. So she gave her memories a moment’s indulgence. It had been a while since she’d allowed herself to think about those two weeks she spent locked up in Joey and Shep’s newest lair.

  They must have drugged her, because she couldn’t recall arriving at their destination after the long car ride, couldn’t remember leaving the minivan. But she’d become aware of herself again as she was being escorted on foot, blindfolded, to what would be her quarters: a fair sized bedroom with strange stone walls like a cell. Whoever had decorated it hadn’t been Shep, she could see that by the tacky, frilled bedcover and pink satin armchair in the corner, the floral, pastel rug. The heart shaped mirror on the wall in the small bathroom, the old-fashioned white dresser, it all looked like a little girl’s room. Or a room set up by someone who’d been ordered to and had no clue what a grown woman might want.

  No one had come to see her that first night, and she found the door locked. Though a basket of snacks and bottled water had been set out on the bedside table, she had an overwhelming fear that she’d die in there. She knew Shep thought she’d betrayed him, and of course, she had, working with Agent Litner to stop his distribution of the crop. She knew she’d done the right thing, helping prevent the sterilization of a portion of the human population, but Shep didn’t see it that way. She’d turned against him, and that was all that mattered to him.

  But he was hardly the one to start pointing fingers. He’d allowed her to be in love with him for years without mentioning he wasn’t human. Not that it mattered in terms of their relationship. Human or not, he’d done unspeakable things, and though she’d once swooned when he walked into a room, intoxicated by his very presence, she could barely stand the sight of him now.

  She’d ripped the blindfold off as soon as the door closed, and thrown herself against it, desperately pulling on the knob. “Why did you bring me here? What do you want, Shep?” she’d screamed as she pounded on the hard wood until her fists went red and raw.

  No windows, door locked, enough food supplies to last her a day or two, she’d worried this was Shep’s revenge. He’d let her die in here, alone, surrounded by ugly furnishings.

  But she didn’t starve. Food was brought to her several times a day by that ghoul, Margol. And Shep hadn’t stayed away either. Once or twice a day he’d burst into the room, green eyes already tight with rage, and berate her in a maniacal rant. First it was for her role in destroying his crop. The next day it was her fault that Allisto had met his demise. The next, she was a whore for dating Patrick, and he hoped she got a venereal disease. He’d return later with apologies and try to get her to admit she still loved him, begging her to put the past behind them and be his girlfriend again. When she refused, the anger would return.

  It went on and on. Rarely allowing her a word in during his scathing reprimands, she suffered through them, weeping uncontrollably once he left. Her requests to get out of the room, even for a breath of fresh air, were ignored. The solitude and the regular dose of emotional abuse eventually got to her, and she turned inward.

  Using one of the chocolate bars from her snack basket, she made a mark on the bathroom wall every day, a prisoner tracking her jail sentence. She kept the time of day based on when Margol brought her meals, giving her a cold stare as he set them down on the floor, leaving in stoic silence. She’d tried to engage him in conversation once, begging him to let her out of the room, just for a little while. He’d given her a quick smile, then left again, locking the door. His silence was almost worse than Shep’s insults. It made her feel like nothing, like an animal.

  And Joey, her own cousin, once dearer to her than anyone in the world, didn’t visit her at all. But she knew now that Joey wasn’t the same person she’d grown up with. He’d been altered beyond repair.

  Then came the eleventh day, the day Juris came. The memory caused her pulse to quicken with anxiety, and she breathed deeply to control the attack. Slowing her thumping heart, she recalled the incident. She’d known that it wasn’t mealtime, as Margol had brought her lunch not more than an hour before. When Juris stepped in and closed the door behind him, she shuffled into the corner of the room and crouched in a defensive posture. “What the hell do you want?”

  He’d taken a step toward her, then stopped when she stiffened her stance, ready to spring if he came any closer. His platinum blond curls were a mess, tee shirt and jeans blotchy with various stains, and he smelled like beer, though didn’t appear intoxicated. His emerald eyes regarded her, shoulders slumped, and he looked exhausted, weighed down with some internal torment. It gave him a more human air than she’d previously seen in any of the brothers. “I have to get back to work before I’m missed,” he said, his words still vaguely choppy with that indecipherable accent. “But I wanted to tell you I’m trying to get you out of here.” He’d turned and left before she could respond.

  The next day she’d made another chocolate mark on the bathroom wall. She did some jumping jacks and pushups after breakfast, fearing her muscles would turn to mush from inactivity. After showering, she’d dressed in loose jogging pants and a sweatshirt, then curled up on the strange princess bed, pulling on the fuzzy socks that Joey, or whoever, had packed for her. She didn’t know where the hell she was, but the room was often cold, the stone walls offering little insulation. Hearing the lock click, she turned and lay on her side, her back to the door, not wanting to look at Margol when he brought her lunch. When the tray smashed on the floor she jolted up. Shep entered the room, his face a mask of rage. She glanced down at the spilled food, then moved back on the bed, toward the wall, as far away from him as she could get.

  “Do you know what occurred to me today, Robin? I hate you. I actually hate you.” That had been the start of his rant. It culminated with him climbing onto the bed, screaming obscenities at her in the frightening, unnatural volume that came out when he was particularly enraged, and for the first time, she saw his eyes change. His normally deep green orbs paled, yellowing, pulsing with light, and it was too much for her to take. That was when she cracked, went over the edge, lost herself.

  She wasn’t sure when Shep left the room, couldn’t hear him over her own screams. Curled up on the bed, fingers clawing at the pillows, she howled and sobbed until she was hoarse, involuntary trembles shuddering her stomach as she hyperventilated.

  An hour later she heard the door open again. By this time her hysteria had exhausted itself, and she lay quietly, the sheet soaked through with tears. The bed shifted as someone sat and put a hand on her shoulder. Rolling onto her back, she’d looked up at Juris, who rested his back against the stone wall, staring down at her, a scowl pinching his blond eyebrows. She groaned, wiping her nose. “Jesus, what now,” she said, her voice croaking.

  “He is grieving for Allisto. He is not himself.”

  “I don’t care,” she said. “I had three family members die in a year and I still didn’t kidnap anyone. Why does he want me here? Really, Juris?”

  “I think he is reluctant to let you go because he’s in pain, and under normal circumstances you would be the one he’d turn to. The Chosen One claims Shepherd brought you here to lure Patrick, but they’ve decided to abandon that course of action. I’m certain you’ll be released from here soon. This serves no purpose. When Shep is in a mood to reason, he agrees with me.”

  Robin sat up, wiping her swollen eyes. “I’d have thought you’d enjoy this. Payback against any and all of us for keeping you tied up in Father Carbone’s basement.”

  “I do not enjoy seeing anyone held captive. Imprisonment is the worst fate of all. I speak from experience.”

  She’d known he was likely referencing his two thousand plus years spen
t trapped in the void, rather than the weeks long stint being interrogated by Agent Litner. For a brief moment, she felt selfish for her tears. Then she reminded herself what he was, the things he’d been involved with. She reminded herself that someone in her own family had died so Juris could live. That Shep used one of her relatives’ blood to unlock the Cripulet and pull Juris out of his captivity. “Why are you trying to help me, Juris?”

  He’d shifted, sliding down on the bed and lying beside her, head propped on his palm. While she would normally have been horrified by the intimate proximity of him, he was the first to speak kindly to her in almost two weeks, and she found it oddly comforting. Again she saw that tiredness in his eyes, a strain, like he had the weight of the world on his shoulders. And knowing Shep’s mission, it was likely more than a metaphor.

  “I know how angry you are at Shepherd right now, but my brother is not himself. He is sick with grief. He’s still in shock over losing Allisto, and all that befell us. He is not...thinking straight. He is not acting right. I am his second in command. It is my job to think for him and act for him during these...lapses in reason.”

  She’d surprised herself by letting out a short laugh. “Lapses in reason. What an eloquent way to describe his torture of me.”

  Juris’s lip had twitched with a smile. “He’s gone on business for two days, so he won’t be here to upset you. When he returns, I’m certain he’ll set you free. We all need to start a new life after what happened in Forest Bluffs. I’ve put the thought in his head that holding you captive is hindering that fresh start. I believe I’m wearing him down.”

  Staring at Juris’s face, she marveled at how like Shep he looked. Just a few slight variations that gave him individuality; a higher brow, slightly thicker upper lip, a more pronounced slant at the corner of one eye, and the hair, two shades lighter than Shep’s darker blond mane. A deep dimple creased his right cheek and she thought it made his smile more interesting than Shep’s. She shook herself and looked away as she realized what she was doing—drinking in Juris’s face the way she used to do with Shep.

  “A year ago he was nothing but my boyfriend,” she said, falling back onto the pillows and keeping her eyes on the ceiling. “That’s so hard to believe now. We went to movies. Hung out. Played darts at the bar. Had sex.” Juris seemed to flinch beside her, and she looked at him. “Now he’s this...thing.”

  There was a long pause, then Juris chuckled. “Although you essentially just called me a thing, I will reveal this. He still cares for you, underneath it all.”

  She smiled. “That’s nice of you to try and make me feel better. But I just spent a week listening to your dear brother scream in my face. I doubt that he still cares for me, Juris. I doubt that very much.”

  “He does.” Juris touched her cheek. Her eyes darted up to him and he quickly pulled his hand back. “I can feel his thoughts.”

  Robin’s cell phone rang and she jumped, spilling wine on her wrist, ripping her out of the memory. She was relieved to be on her couch in her own apartment. Letting out a breath, she picked it up and scowled, not recognizing the number. On a whim she answered. “Hello?”

  “I’m coming to town.”

  Robin bristled at the voice. At first she thought it was Shep, but the timbre was softer. “Who is this?”

  “You know who it is.”

  She gnawed on her lip, fingers sweating as she gripped the phone to her ear. Had her thoughts summoned him or was this why she’d been thinking of him? Because he was about to call her? She didn’t even know he knew how to use a damn phone. She had sensed something tonight though, something coming. Could he have had something to do with that? He wasn’t human after all. Perhaps on some psychic level, he’d been sending mental energy her way without even knowing it.

  She never believed in such things in the past, certainly not enough to jump to some metaphysical conclusion like this. But her mind had been pried open the past year, so nothing was off the table anymore.

  “How did you get this number?” she asked. “Why the hell are you calling me, Juris?”

  “I have business to tend to this evening. I will call you tomorrow.”

  “What do you want?”

  “We must talk about what happened.”

  Retrieving her wine glass, she downed it, then let out a heavy breath. “I’m not sure I agree with that,” she said. “In fact we should talk about it never. Never.”

  “I must see you.”

  Robin remained silent for a long while as her mind raced and her body tingled with anxiety. Damn Powers and their cryptic ways. I must see you. Must? Was that the same as I want to see you? Because it sounded more like he was executing an order.

  “Is he coming to town, too?” she asked.

  “I will be with all of my brothers, yes.”

  She smirked at the way he avoided saying Shep’s name to her. “I’m never going to tell him, if that’s what you’re worried about,” she whispered, as though Shep was listening somewhere nearby.

  “There is dangerous business in Boston tonight. If I survive it, you’ll hear from me again.”

  He hung up, and Robin pulled the phone away from her ear and scowled at it. “Great,” she said. Talk about a dramatic exit. Damn freak. Damn sexy freak. She took a deep breath and pushed that thought away. She had to stop thinking of him that way.

  After several moments of sitting with her head in her hands, ordering her heart to stop racing, she picked up the phone and tried one of her work colleagues, leaving a voicemail message. She was going out tonight after all. And perhaps, just perhaps, she’d meet a man who wasn’t friends with, related to, or in any way connected to Shep. That would be a first. Christ, I have issues. Like dating Patrick hadn’t set Shep off enough.

  Juris. It was Juris, for crying out loud. What the hell had she been thinking? Stockholm Syndrome, she’d decided. Twenty-seven percent of kidnap victims fell prey to it—she’d looked it up. Blaming Stockholm Syndrome had served to alleviate most of her guilt for a while. It made perfect sense considering the state she’d been in when it happened. Perfect sense.

  Until now. She poured a second glass of wine as it hit her. He fucking called me? What the hell was he playing at? He knew Shep better than anyone, knew what he was capable of when betrayed. He was crazy to call her. Crazier to want to see her.

  A quick blast of fear gripped her, and she took a deep breath, closing her eyes. Shep didn’t know. Shep would never know. No one would. And not only because she feared his wrath. She was embarrassed. It was pathetic, this thing she’d done with Juris, a very similar looking brother, a former celestial Power, just like Shep. Well, not just like Shep...

  She shivered, remembering the feel of the scar on Juris’s back, her fingers trailing the tissue where his wings had been removed, slightly more raised than Shep’s nearly identical mark.

  Guilt returned, because deep down, she wasn’t sure Juris had been a substitute for Shep. When it happened, she was feeling anything but amorous toward her former love. But it didn’t feel like cheap vengeance either.

  Juris looked a lot like Shep and certainly shared his dark sense of humor, but the truth was she’d regarded Juris as his own, unique being since they’d met. Even when he was tied up in Father Carbone’s basement, hissing at everyone, his mind was sharp, his demeanor almost smug as he traded barbs. Like all the brothers, he possessed an inherent oddness, and like all the brothers, he was frightening. But he was smart, and maneuvered the gauntlet of human life with a slick skill and determination the other brothers seemed to lack. Hell, just being in human flesh had turned Allisto mad. And Margol, though creepy as hell, was more or less a drone for Shep. Klee, the baby brother was little more than a man child.

  Juris was different. Although Shep was his leader, he unflinchingly grabbed the reins when needed. And based on what happened in Vermont, he had his own desires and made his own decisions. Okay, Robin. Way to rationalize.

  Something dark and forbidden unfurled inside he
r, recalling the feel of his white curls brushing over her face as his lips met hers. Had she ventured to consider it before it happened, she’d have expected he’d be inexperienced, awkward and fumbling like a virgin teen. Hell, he’d only been in the world about a year. Don’t think about that, it’s perverse. But of course this was no child; he was older than she could imagine. Don’t think about that either—even worse.

  But he wasn’t awkward at all. And if he was inexperienced, he put on a good show to the contrary. He was skilled and passionate and urgent, bringing her over the edge easily...and repeatedly. Despite the shame in her mind, her body wanted to see him. And she hated herself for it.

  “There is dangerous business in Boston tonight. If I survive it, you’ll hear from me again.”

  She hoped he was being overly dramatic, but that wasn’t really his way. For a split second she thought about calling Patrick to see if he’d heard anything about Shep and Joey coming to Boston. She shook the idea off quickly. What the hell would she say to Patrick? That she was worried about Juris? She’d broken Patrick’s heart because she couldn’t bear to look him in the eye after what she’d done. He’d accused her of succumbing to Shep’s charms while in his captivity. Shep’s charms. That was rich.

  Climbing off the couch, she went into her bedroom to change into clubbing clothes. She’d go out, have a good time, and forget all about the phone call. If Juris called again, she’d simply refuse to see him. It was too dangerous. Problem solved. She hoped.

  Chapter Four

  Margol had been summoned away for a ‘briefing’ and Litner was left alone in Shep’s suite for over an hour. If he’d been on any other mission, he’d have taken full advantage and rummaged through Shep’s things. But all he could think of was the ticking clock, and who would be next to die. He knew his heart had been in the right place, not telling Agent Michaels’ how to open the Cripulet. And for not telling him that the leaders of the cult they’d raided were more or less fallen angels with big guns and bigger chips on their shoulders.