Edge Of Midnight (The Mccloud Series Book 4)

by Shannon McKenna

  She stared into his eyes. It took several tries to get the words out. “Sean. Wh-whatever happens now…I l-love you.”

  “Aw.” Osterman let out a sigh. “Brings tears to my eyes. And speaking of eyes. Let’s start with one of hers.” He patted her cheek. “Feel free to scream,” he invited her. “The place is soundproofed.”

  The girl tied to the radiator started to wail. Osterman spun around. “Shut up, or I’ll have him start with you instead,” he barked.

  The girl curled up with a keening moan, and began to rock.

  Sean’s body jerked, shuddered. He took a shuffling step closer.

  Liv squeezed her eyes shut, cringing away.

  Chapter 27

  Osterman lied. This wasn’t a preview. This was hell, here and now. Twisting in the flames, damned souls screaming, pitchforks jabbing. Every muscle was locked in a burning rigor of agony with the effort to resist the impulse Osterman sent through his nerves.

  The impulse to lift the blowtorch, and burn Liv’s beautiful, tear-streaked face with it.

  He could sense Osterman’s gloating pleasure. Fucking with him and liking it. The foul intimacy of the contact made him want to vomit.

  Consciousness of who he was, what was happening, wrapping itself into a protective bubble, retreating from the horror…

  He yanked it back. Pain roared through his body afresh. If he let go of that bubble, he was dead meat walking. Osterman’s pet zombie.

  Time warped, stretched. He hung on, shuddering to stay still while Osterman yanked the puppet strings. The room spun. He was trapped in the center, in a fiery pillar of agony. His father stood before him, his lean face seamed with pain and loss. He contemplated his lastborn son’s distress as if he were all too familiar with it.

  Do the hard thing, he advised, his voice dour.

  Sean would have laughed, if he could. Yeah, Dad. And what might that fucking hard thing be? It’s all hard.

  Eamon nodded gravely. Turn it around.

  Turn what around? How? I’m paralyzed!

  Eamon was gone. Sean sat on the plank floor of the kitchen. A woman with blond hair sat with him. She had dimples. Beautiful green eyes. A rush of emotion made his heart leap. Mom?

  She held a piece of gray plastic tubing, from the irrigation pipes his father was laying outside, tilted it down towards him, and poked something into it. A ball bearing rolled into his palm. A toddler’s hand. Knuckles dimpled. Grubby, dirty nails. Turn it around. Send it back.

  Then he was on the cot in his room, staring at the mandala on the ceiling. Its hypnotic curves sucked him up, tossed him in the air. He swooped with the stunt kite over a desert landscape. The colors of the kite were so bright against that vast, aching blue. turn it around

  He followed the cord down to the figure far below. Tall, dirt blond hair, buzzed so short it was mouse brown. The man lifted his face.

  It was Kev, but not the Kev that he remenbered. This was a Kev Sean had never known. His face was thin, seamed and hard. His eyes distant. The entire right side of his face was puckered with scars.

  Sean opened his streaming eyes, stared at Liv, lying on that table.

  She told him she loved him. While he held a blowtorch over her.

  turn it around

  His mother held out the length of gray tubing.

  He took it, held it to his eye. It was no longer gray plastic. He was looking through a throbbing red wormhole. He gathered his strength.

  turn it around

  He dove. The universe screamed with him as he raced through the wormhole, burrowed into the polluted place that was Osterman’s brain.

  He sank the talons of his will into the other man’s mind, and reeled. These were not his hands, clutching the scalpel. Not his muscles trembling, not his limbs holding this body upright.

  Not his, this dead, rotting heart, that somehow still beat.

  He couldn’t keep this up. Pressure was building. There was no valve to release it. He spoke, haltingly. Alien vocal folds vibrated, the pitch and timbre all wrong, and he fumbled with the wrong teeth, the wrong tongue, but still, the words came out, of Osterman’s mouth.

  “Goodbye, princess,” he said thickly. “I love you.”

  His/Osterman’s hand whipped up, slashing the scalpel deep into the man’s carotid artery. Sean felt the awful pain of it. The heat of the arc of blood that sprayed, spattered across Liv. It welled over his/Osterman’s chest. A series of soft explosions popped, in his head.

  Darkness rushed in, and swallowed him whole.

  Liv beat and flailed against her bonds as Osterman flopped down on top of her. His dead weight crushed her lungs. His hot blood pumped out, soaking into her blouse, trickling over her ribs. His face dangled over her ribs, wet mouth gaping, eyes white-rimmed like a mad horse.

  She shrieked, bucking madly, bowing herself up in an arch until the heavy body shifted and slid into a heap on the ground.

  Sean still stood, his face blank. She screamed his name, but his eyes no longer saw her. The blowtorch fell, bounced, still hissing.

  Sean toppled, rigid as a tree crashing down. He hit the rolling table of improvised torture implements. It tipped, and the stuff clattered and crashed to the floor. So did the big, uncapped bottle of alcohol.

  The liquid glugged out onto the floor tiles in a spreading puddle. Rivulets reaching out like tentacles, towards the blowtorch, hissing on the floor. The clear liquid inched closer to the tongue of blue flame.

  Swoosh, fire found the volatile liquid, and a thread of flame raced its way back to the big mother puddle. Whump, the pool caught fire.

  Heat crackled, roared. The air shimmered and shook.

  The girl tied to the radiator began to scream.

  The raggedy hole in the foliage of the rhododendrons was just big enough so that Miles could watch the guy approach. Big, muscle going to fat…that lantern jaw, those pale eyes, where had he seen that guy?

  The tape. It was the grave digger from Kev’s tape. Fifteen years older, heavier, thicker, but it was him. Even the rolling, apelike walk was the same. A knee-weakening rush of fear pulsed through him.

  The guy slowed down, and grabbed a walkie talkie off his belt. He put it to his ear. “What the fuck is it now? You gotta learn to wank off by yourself, Brice. Don’t ask me to jerk your willie for you, because I got my own—” His voice trailed off. “Fire? In C Building? What the fuck?”

  He spun around, and took off at a dead run.

  Miles scrambled to his feet and took off after him. Anything that made that guy run had to be Miles’s business. He had to keep this guy in sight while staying somehow invisible himself.

  Tough, for an unarmed, clueless geek dressed in fucking Armani.

  Oh God they were going to die they were going to roast and fry—

  “Hey! You! Girl! Shut up and listen to me!”

  The sharp words somehow cut through the terror in Cindy’s brain. She flipped her hair aside to peek at the woman strapped to the cot. Liv. Erin had told her about Liv, the goddess. Liv’s head and shoulders were lifted off the gurney. Her eyes blazed with urgency.

  “Do you want to live?” she demanded.

  Cindy sucked in a sobbing breath. “Y-yes!”

  “Good. What’s your name?”

  “C-Cindy,” she chattered out.

  “Listen up, Cindy. I’ve got a trick ring. Press hard on the stone and a tiny knife pops out. I can’t use it, but you could. Understand?”

  Cindy tried to swallow with her shaking throat, and nodded.

  The woman worked the ring off her trapped hand with her middle finger and thumb. “I’m going to throw this to you. Cross your fingers.”

  Liv’s wrist flicked. A small, shining golden thing flipped into the air in a long, low arc. It hit, bounced, bounced again. Rolled. It was like breathlessly watching a roulette wheel as it spun and stopped.

  Three feet away from Cindy’s sneakered feet.

  “Oh, shit, oh hell, oh fuck!” Cindy shrieked. She flung herself
out, stretching, rubber-soled shoes squeaking, groping and scrabbling. Liv bit her lip and closed her eyes, letting her head drop down onto the cot.

  No way was she going to die like this. Not Liv, either. Or Sean, whom she liked. Sean was by far the nicest of the grim McCloud crowd. She kicked off her sneakers, gripped the hem of her jeans between her toes and started tugging. Thank God for low rise. She flailed, kicked, until they were long tubes of denim stuck to her ankles.

  “Hurry,” Liv begged.

  Cindy lifted her ankles, and flung the wad of fabric out.

  The waistband fell inches short of the ring. The next try hit, but sent the thing skittering a foot to the left and inches further away.

  Cindy pried the jeans down until they were all the way off, then clamped the hem of the legs between her toes. She lifted. Flung.

  The butt part of the jeans landed on the ring. She heard a voice chanting as she reeled it in. It was her own voice, whimpering “please, God, please, God.” Liv was yelling, hurry, hurry. Tears and snot ran down her face. She bent herself inside out to get her bare foot onto the ring, to nudge it under herself. Her fingers groped, grabbed, slid it on. It was too big, but she twirled it around, shoved the stone.

  The knife sprang out, bit her. Blood ran over her hand, but she still went at it, straining and sawing at the duct tape ’til it broke free. She struggled to her feet, stumbled across the room. Yanked at the buckle straps holding Liv’s wrists down. Liv leaped off the bed, dove for Sean. She grabbed him under the armpits, but could barely move him. Cindy jolted into action, grabbed the other shoulder.

  Liv hit the tire iron with her foot. Scooped it up. By the time they got to the door, the room was choked with acrid smoke. The door was locked. Liv flung herself at it, yelling and pounding with the tire iron. The thing barely scratched the varnish. Cindy tugged at her arm.

  “We need that guy’s body!” she coughed out. “We need his eye!”

  “What?” Liv yelled. “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “His eye!” Cindy croaked, louder. “The door’s got one of those retina scan lock doohickeys. I think the card’s in his pocket.”

  Cindy fell to her knees, took as deep a breath as she could, and scrambled over the floor. Flames roared against the back wall. The sicko doctor’s shoes were smoldering. She grabbed his arm. Liv blundered out of the smoke, and grabbed the other arm. Somehow, they got the corpse to the door. Cindy rummaged in his pockets for the key card.

  “We gotta get him on his feet,” she panted. She and Liv hoisted up the dead weight of the guy’s bloody, neck lolling, head-flopping corpse up to eye level. “Ohmigod, this is sickening! I want to barf,” Cindy gasped.

  “Later,” Liv sputtered, coughing. “Barf later.”

  Cindy swiped the card. The machine beeped. She pried the doctor’s eyelid open. Put his clammy, scummy dead eyeball up to the scanner. A red light shot in, turned green. Click, the lock popped loose.

  The doctor’s corpse pitched over the threshhold. They kicked him aside to make way to drag Sean. Stumbled towards the end of the smoky tunnel, hacking and spitting. They shoved open the door, tumbled out into sweet, fresh air. Smoke boiled out along with them.

  Click. The sound of a bullet being chambered. They spun around.

  “Just where do you ladies think you’re going?” Gordon rasped.

  Miles’s shoe slipped on the branch. He grabbed the bough above his head. There was so much smoke in the air, he hoped that the leaves and twigs falling to the ground would go unnoticed.

  He’d crawled off the roof of the underground building, and onto an overhanging branch. He was filthy from crawling on his belly through mud and leaves. His legs wobbled and shook. They could probably hear his heart thudding a half a mile away.

  The grave digger’s taunting voice floated up from below. “…one of you shall I shoot first? Tough choice. I wanted to bang you both before I snuffed you, but it looks like I’m going to have to pick. Eenie, meenie, minie, moe. Did you take your pants off just for me?”

  A low, hacking cough. “No, I didn’t.” Cindy’s voice was hoarse, but steady. “Fuck off and die, you sick asshole.”

  Miles inched further out. The slender bough he crouched on was bowing under his weight, but he wasn’t over T-Rex’s head yet. He was only getting one chance at surprising this guy. It had better count.

  “Ooh. Naughty girls who use bad words will get punished,” T-Rex crooned. “Turn around, sweet cheeks. Show me your ass.”

  “Not,” Cindy said. Her voice shook.

  “Let me restate that. Turn around or I’ll gut-shoot you.”

  Miles took one more shuffling step. Another. Almost there…

  Crack. The branch broke. Down he went, along with what felt like half the tree. He landed on top of the guy. Thuds, shrieks, shouts.

  A gun went off. He was flung, like a toy. Concrete smacked him, conking his head. T-Rex came at him, screaming with rage.

  Miles’s body jackknifed. His dress shoes slammed into the other man’s gut, lifting him, tossing him headlong. He rolled up onto his feet. So did the other guy. Miles’s leg whipped out at T-Rex’s gun hand, and he was astonished to make contact. Smack. The gun flipped, twirled. Miles lunged, but T-Rex jabbed in a frontal kick, right into his nose.

  Blood squirted. Miles reeled back, saw stars. Crunch, he took another doozy to the ribs. He fell, saw the gun, reached for it—

  T-Rex kicked it away, and stomped on Miles’s fingers with a huge booted foot. “I don’t think so, dickhead,” he snarled.

  There was a crackling, popping noise. Miles screamed as the boot crushed all the bones in his hand. He grabbed Miles’s wrist, lifted his boot off. Wrenched the arm up, and violently back. Snap. Agony.

  Then T-Rex stumbled back. Cindy was clinging to his back like a crazy monkey, clawing at his face with something sharp. He bellowed, and flung her off. She flew, legs flailing, hit the concrete. Lay very still.

  Miles struggled up onto his knees, but knives were stabbing his lungs, and his arm, his hand, were a throbbing mass of fiery splinters.

  He tried to get into guard. His legs wobbled crazily beneath him.

  T-Rex wiped his bloody face. “Say goodbye to your face, pretty boy,” he snarled, winding up for a kick. “I’m going to cave it in for you.”

  Thunk. A hollow, wet sound. T-Rex’s face took on a surprised look. He toppled forward. A ton of malodorous meat crashed down on Miles’s fucked-up arm and hand, and sweet bleeding Christ, it hurt.

  Liv stood there, clutching a tire iron in shaking hands. Barefoot, eyes blank and staring, in her clinging, blood-drenched red halter dress.

  Liv waited until Miles had wriggled out from beneath T-Rex’s bulk before she staggered forward and prodded at the man’s head with the tire iron. No more surprises for this woman today, thank you.

  There was a bloody, gaping hole in T-Rex’s skull. She stared at it, mouth dangling. She should feel proud. Triumphant. She felt nothing.

  Miles was scooping up T-Rex’s gun, and saying something to her. She couldn’t understand him. She’d forgotten what words meant. Miles dragged out his cell phone. Calling for help. That was good. His face was streaked with blood, but he’d be OK. So would the girl. They’d all do.

  The only one who wouldn’t do was Sean. He wouldn’t do at all.

  She staggered to where Sean lay, half in and half out the door, and fell to her knees, searching for a pulse. His wrist was sticky with drying blood. She found one, a faint fluttering under her finger.

  There was nothing she could do for him. He needed medical help, a team of neurosurgeons. She still saw Osterman’s horrified eyes as Sean spoke through the man’s lips. Goodbye, princess. I love you.

  God, how had he done that? How the hell had he done that?

  That touched her off. She’d found her feelings again. A tidal wave of them. She sagged over him, lifted his hand to her face, and wept.

  Cindy rolled up onto her knees, dazed. Amazed to be al
ive. Stinky black smoke poured from the building. Wind sighed in the trees. Birds twittered. Liv was curled into a shaking ball over Sean’s sprawled form.

  Miles swayed on his knees, trying to peel the jacket over his poor squished hand. The arm of his shirt dripped crimson. She stumbled towards him, tearing off her blouse. “Ohmigod you’re bleeding,” she babbled. “Did he shoot you? Oh, shit! I gotta call someone!”

  “Davy’s on it,” Miles forced out the words. “He’s getting an ambulance. It’s a compound fracture. No big deal.”

  “Oh, shut up. No big deal, my ass.” She wadded up the blouse and pressed it against the dripping splotch. Miles howled. “Christ!”

  “Sorry,” she whispered. “Just trying to help.”

  “This is so fucking typical.” His voice was thin and breathless. “You always end up buck naked in all your freaky adventures. Put on my jacket, for Christ’s sake. It’s bloody, but it’ll cover your bare ass.”

  Cindy rolled her eyes. “I cannot believe that you can still give me shit about my underwear after what just happened to us.”

  “Underwear?” He hissed as she applied pressure. “That’s a seethru doily and some string. But at least one burning mystery is solved.”

  “Yeah?” She scowled at him. “And what burning mystery is that?”

  “You were telling the truth about your heart-shaped pussy hair.”

  She tried to laugh. “Ah. Well. If you’re all intense about my pussy hair, you can’t be too bad off. Lie down before you faint. Macho dweeb.”

  Davy and Con barrelled down the hill. She and Miles got a quick once-over, and the McClouds went for Sean like a shot, ignoring the two of them. She eased Miles onto his back, trying not to look at his poor mashed hand. It made her want to hurl. “Thanks for coming after me.”

  His eyelids fluttered open. “Hmmph.”

  “Yeah, I know. It’s nothing personal. You’d do the same for any whale, eagle or panda you met on the street. But still. You know what?”

  His eyes narrowed. “What?”