by BA Tortuga
“Cowboy….” He held on by the skin of his teeth.
“More. Damn it, Doc. Gimme.”
His balls drew up and he shot, hard.
Colby moaned, thrashing under him, cock rubbing madly against his skin. Then his cowboy came for him, just like that.
Duncan hummed, reaching out to stroke Colby’s nape. His.
Cowboy rumbled a little, kissing his mouth before sinking down against him. “Better?”
“Better.” He nodded. “When do you think we’ll leave?”
“I’m not sure, babe.” When he glanced up, Colby had that calculating expression on his face that always meant trouble. “We might have to do a few jobs, get back into the loop. I think we’re gonna have to resupply.”
“Okay, but I’m going with you.” He was smart; he could learn.
“You are, huh?” He could hear the gears grinding in that bright brain of Colby’s, he just knew it. “Depends on the job, but you could be useful.”
“I’m going, useful or not. Just deal with it, Cowboy.”
“You slow me down and you’ll see how I deal, honey.” Patting his butt, Colby sighed. “Not tonight, though. Tonight we wait for the Brit and the kid to come back.”
“Uh-huh.” He wasn’t scared. He probably ought to be, but it just wasn’t happening.
Hopefully he’d still be alive when it happened.
THE DESERT went on and on and on, just like the weeks did. Paddy stood at the balcony of the room he shared with Neil, staring out. MJ was out there; Neil was dreaming about him all the time now, twisting and muttering. It was ugly, he thought. Boomer was hurting bad.
It gave him a sick, vicious sort of satisfaction, somehow. He wanted someone else to hurt, not Neil.
It wasn’t working that way, though. Neil was hurting too. Hurting inside his head.
If only Boomer hadn’t found him.
If only you hadn’t been making weapons, Rick. If only you hadn’t been letting them lie to you.
“Stop it.” He whispered the words, arms wrapped around his waist.
“Hmm?” Neil’s arms came around him from behind. “Stop what, love?”
He jumped, hands on Neil’s wrists. “Nothing.”
That voice. That voice hated him. It wanted to hurt him. He knew.
“Love?” Neil’s lips found the back of his neck.
“You’re dreaming about him, aren’t you? Boomer.”
“I am. Sadly, at this point, all he can show me is blackness and pain. There was a moment there, a week or more ago… I saw him, clear as day. Now, though, he’s dark.”
“Is he crazy? Boomer?”
“Oh, yes.” Neil smiled against his skin. “Certifiable.”
That made him chuckle. “I wouldn’t tell Sonny that; he’d be mad.”
“MJ was insane before they met.” Those hands tightened on him.
“Do you think my mom thinks about me?” Boomer’s mom talked about MJ all the time.
“I am sure she does, love. I am so sorry. So sorry.” There was a tiny murmur of Neil’s thoughts in his head, sorrow for all Paddy had lost.
“I am too. I think I probably will have to be forever.” Boomer would tell him that was karma.
“Shh.” One of Neil’s hands flattened on his belly, all healed.
He nodded, leaned back against Neil, eyes on the desert.
That’s right, Paddy, he told himself. Shh.
SONNY WAS just gonna lose it.
There was no way to find MJ except through Neil, and Neil swore all he could get was darkness. They had to wait until he could get a fix.
Wait. Fucking wait. That was all they fucking did. It had been weeks, then months, of nothing. He needed a smoke. Sonny dug in the bag Duncan had brought back from the last trip to the store, pulling out a box of Marlboro Reds before heading out to the balcony.
The Brit was starting to look like a walking fucking zombie with no sleep, Red was so jittery someone was going to kill him, and Cowboy was fixin’ to bug the fuck out.
Damn it, Precious. What shit have you got us all into?
The only ones not going apeshit were Nan and Duncan, and Sonny figured that was the weed and the peace tea. He clicked open his Zippo, which he’d dug back out without MJ around to threaten to pitch it, and lit up.
Again, he replayed the last time he saw MJ. He could fucking remember everything—the shaggy blond hair, the blue eyes, the icy cold fury in them. The motherfucker was supposed to shoot him.
Shoot him.
Smoke poured out of his nose on a sob. Jesus, what the fuck had that little fucker been thinking?
It wasn’t supposed to happen like this, damn it. Sonny pounded his fist against his thigh, just to prove he could feel it. That things still hurt.
“Does that make it better?” Red’s voice was shaken, shaky.
“No.” He wasn’t sure whether to feel bad for the kid or beat him down. The fucking Brit had been why they’d gone back, after all.
“Oh. I was hoping it did.” Those green eyes stared at him.
“I wish. Want a smoke?” He offered the pack. It beat throwing them both off the balcony.
“I don’t know how to. Sorry.”
“No need to be.” He’d just have another himself. “You look like shit.”
“I know. Neil…. Boomer’s haunting him. I think… I think something’s about to happen. The dreams are getting worse.”
A savage little voice inside him wanted to scream “Yes!” He held it inside by will alone. “Well, we need something to happen.”
“Yeah. Yeah, Neil’s…. He says things when he’s sleeping. Scary things. I don’t….” It looked like Paddy was screwing up his courage. “It might not be Boomer anymore, not really. It’s more like a ghost.”
Sonny stared at Red, narrowing his eyes, knowing it made him look snake mean. “Your Brit says he’s alive.”
“Yes. But…. Neil’s speaking Spanish. Screaming. In Spanish.”
Spanish. What the fuck? MJ was fluent in more than one language, but when he had nightmares, they were always in English.
“Come on. Don’t wake him up. You can hear.” Red grabbed his arm, tugged him.
Sonny tensed up all over, but he stubbed out the smoke and followed, his skin crawling a little. Something was broken in Red, and a man didn’t have to be psychic to feel it.
The bedroom was pitch-black, the Brit barely visible, twisted in the sheets. “Que se chinge! Voy a matarlo!”
The words kept coming—threats mixed in with hysterical sounds that made Sonny want to scream, want to pound someone into a grease spot on the floor. Just about the time he couldn’t stand it anymore, the Brit stopped, sat straight up, and suddenly it was MJ’s fucking voice he heard.
“It’s time to play now? About fucking time, man. Bring it on. Let’s dance.”
Then Neil slumped onto the bed, boneless, and Red went to him, crying out, “Neil? Neil? Wake up. Wake up right now!”
That was no ghost, right? No ghost could be that strong. MJ was alive. Fucking alive and ready to make his move.
“Cowboy!”
“Neil….” Red was shaking the Brit but good, and he heard Cowboy’s door open like the bastard’d been sitting ready.
“You called, Redneck?”
Neil sputtered, distracting him for a moment when a tiny bit of blood dripped down Neil’s chin. “Padraic?”
“I’m here. I’m right here. You have to let him go. He’s killing you.”
“No. No, love, I think he’s saving himself.” Neil laughed, the sound making the hair rise up on Sonny’s neck.
Cowboy looked at him. “What the fuck’s up?”
“MJ’s ready to make his move. I’m thinking Mexico. We need a plan.”
“Mexico, huh? You start figuring out a basic where. I’ll work on supplies.”
“I can do that.” He moved in a little, watching Paddy blot at Neil’s face. “Is he seeing daylight yet?”
“They took him out of the cage.�
�
Motherfuckers.
The big vein in his right temple threatened to blow. They had put his MJ in a cage. His claustrophobic, “once had to sit and watch his best friend rot in a box” MJ. Sonny was gonna tear them apart like a kid tearing wings off flies.
Neil groaned, started to shake, and Red cried out, “You fucker! Boomer! Leave him alone!”
Sonny would have felt sorry for the damned fool, but Neil was the one who had dared to get into MJ’s head to begin with. “He has to tell us where, kid.”
Neil curled into himself, the cry sharp. “Sunshine!”
“Jesus.” He leaped across the remaining space, shaking Neil furiously. “Run, Precious. You run. I can find you if you get away.”
“Never getting in a fucking box again, man. Never.” For a second, he didn’t even see the Brit. It was MJ right there.
Then it all wavered, collapsed, and Neil slumped down against Red, gagging and panting.
“Go away! You all get the fuck out of here right now!” Red was screaming, an alarm clock flying across the air and shattering against the wall.
Sonny backed off. He could feel it. MJ wasn’t there anymore. He was running, just like he’d been told.
Cowboy grabbed his arm, pulled him out, and closed the door. “This is some fucked-up shit, man.”
Sonny thought there was a hint of real worry in those lizard eyes.
“You got no idea. We need a plan.” Had he said that? He hoped so.
“Mexico. He’ll head for the border towns. He ain’t Mexican. He cain’t pass, up close.”
“So, where do we start?” He wanted to have maps and shit, to have a way to get there now. Tomorrow.
“We get a vehicle, papers. Supplies. I ain’t taking those two with us.”
“No. No, once the Brit gets a bead on MJ, we leave them here with Nan.”
“Okay. You deal with that. Me and Duncan will get the truck and stuff.”
“Okay.” Man, he didn’t want to go back in there and face the flying objects.
“You might let them sleep, man. Talk to the Brit in the morning without Blinky.”
“Oh. Good idea. I’ll just make sure they don’t try to bolt.” He didn’t want to wait either, but he’d bet Neil would be no help right now.
Cowboy nodded, clapped him on the arm. “Jay-Jay’s a strong motherfucker. He’ll make it out.”
“Yeah.” Yeah. He might just believe that after hearing Precious’s voice.
Even if it had come out of a crazy-assed British psychic.
Chapter Six
HE KNEW the end was coming.
He knew it, just like he knew he was a ghost, that no matter what happened here, when the dust settled at the end, he’d be dead.
They wanted him back to work. Wanted him to do his job, what he was made for.
Kill the scientist. Destroy the evidence. All of it.
Just a few more treatments, they said. Just a few more, and then he’d be fully controlled. Then they could let him go, let him out onto the world.
Assholes.
He reached down, slid the IV shunt from his neck, digging in hard to staunch the flow of blood. The pain was good, damned good, in fact. He wasn’t dead. He was alive.
The needle in the shunt was long enough for what he needed, and the man who came to take him for his treatment came alone now, with one pistola and a chain on his belt. A chain with keys.
He held the needle carefully, made sure to slump at the bottom of the cage, look boneless and relaxed.
People are stupid, MJ. You have to remember that. They get lazy. They get confident. Our way of life, our job, it’s about timing.
He nodded to Paula, smiled at her. She was a ghost too.
He favors his right knee. He broke it, once.
He nodded. He’s right-handed. They all think I’m right-handed too.
Not Greg.
The name left him ice-cold and empty. Greg. Greg had gone rogue, just as much as he or Paula had. Difference was, that son of a bitch had way more cash flow and goons than he ever had. Not only that, but the crazy bastard was tying up loose ends. Him and Rick. Ends one and two. No. No, not Greg.
He thought of going, of finding the burned, ugly son of a bitch and ripping his head off.
No. No, MJ. You have to get out. Heal. Then you’ll come back and raze this motherfucking thing. Make him burn.
It’s that bad, huh? He thought he was doing better, really. He could see out of his left eye again. He still had all his toes.
Yeah. You’re damn close to coming to see me, and you have shit to do yet.
Yes. Let the guy open the door, slam the needle into one eye and tear as he took out the hyoid bone with his thumb. Spoon out the other eye, crush the carotid, and he could be dressed, armed, and on the move.
Excellent plan.
I think so, you old bitch.
He wanted out. He wanted to move. He wanted sunshine.
Everything in him stilled, time stopping.
He wanted his Sunshine.
The door to the room opened, the sound of boots clacking on the floor.
Okay. Okay, showtime.
He smiled to Paula, who wasn’t even there anymore, and slipped the needle between his thumb and forefinger as the cage door swung open. “Come on, it’s time.”
He groaned and let the fucker crawl halfway in to help him before he attacked. “It so is.”
NEIL SAT straight up in bed, his head aching, his heart throbbing.
He was so tired that his eyes hurt, and his mouth felt as if it had been sprayed with quick-dry lacquer. Really, he needed to remember how to put his shields up.
“Neil? Neil, is it you?” His dear Paddy was in an utter panic, as deep into broken as he’d ever seen.
“Yes, love. Have I been someone else?” He tried not to smile, even if it was too dark to see. Paddy was too upset for that.
“Yeah. Yeah, Boomer. It wasn’t your voice. You were talking to Sonny, and it wasn’t you at all. Be careful of the glass on the floor.”
“Glass?” Had he somehow broken windows or some such?
“Uh-huh. I threw things.”
He got a sudden image of Paddy screaming, throwing things at people and walls.
“Oh, very nice, sweet. One must admire the magnificence of your rage.” Neil reached out, unerringly finding Paddy’s hand.
“I wanted them to kill him so that he’d leave you alone.”
“Oh, love.” He hated that idea. His lighthearted love being so bloodthirsty on his behalf. “I’m not sure killing Manning would make a difference. They had me long enough to do some programming of their own.”
“Did they? Did they get into you?” Padraic’s hands moved over him, petting him carefully.
“I don’t know what they did.” He felt he had to be honest, so he paused, gathering his thoughts. “It’s almost like when I’m on drugs. I can’t seem to close things out. They have some amazing methods.”
“Things or just Boomer?”
“All manner of things. Manning is strong. He needs Robert Jr. out there to know where he is.” Neil rolled his head on his neck, listening to the creak.
“Then we’ll tell him, and then we’ll make him go away.” Paddy was about to take him and run.
“I wish it was that easy, hmm? We’ll tell him, and they’ll go, but I have to see this to the end.” He knew what Manning knew. This man would never stop coming. Not for Paddy, or Manning, or even Duncan, now that they knew he was alive.
I wish he’d just killed me that first night. It would have been better. The words were almost silent, so hidden inside his Paddy, but he heard them nonetheless.
“No. No, no, no.” He turned, pressing their foreheads together. He loved Paddy. Needed him in that blind, selfish way. Really, they just needed to get this over with.
“I’m so sorry. I didn’t know things would turn out this way.”
“Neither did I.” Neil sighed. “I would give you up if I thought you could have
your life back, but I can’t give you that.”
“I don’t want it back.” The fierceness behind the words surprised him. “I want our life back.”
“I want that too. A beach somewhere. We’ll get it, I swear.” They might be a bit worse for wear once it happened, but by damn, they would get it.
“I’ll get Sonny. You tell that nasty, ugly little man to tell you where he is.”
“I have a starting point, I think.” He did. There had been such bright light. The smell of salt. Manning wanted the water.
Paddy opened the door, talking stiltedly to Robert Jr., the glass tinkling as the door passed over it.
Padraic must have thrown a good bit of something. Neil wasn’t sure what, besides a clock. His stomach growled, oddly enough.
“You aren’t allowed to be mean to him, do you understand?” Paddy was puffed up, protecting him.
“I’m not the mean one, Red. I liked him okay from the get-go, didn’t I?” Sonny knelt down in front of the bed. “What have you got, Neil?”
“He’s out. There’s salt in the air, so much sunshine.” There was something happening to the man too. A huge distance was building that hadn’t been there before.
“So, with the Mexican thing, we’re looking at a coastal border town?” Sonny held his gaze, those sloe eyes deadly serious. This was a man pushed to the very limit.
“I believe so. I also believe that the man you knew as MJ is very close to gone.”
“I can get him back.” There was an unshakable certainty in Sonny’s voice, one Neil understood. He felt that way about his happy ending with Padraic.
“There is a lot of confusion—he’ll be looking for somewhere big enough to escape. To fly out.”
“Yeah. But he’ll want small enough holes in the wall to hide in until he can make a break for it.” Sonny snorted. “And he may think he’s gonna fly, but he won’t. Makes him crazy with the claustrophobia.”
“He’s deadly.” Not that he was terribly concerned, but it seemed only fair to repeat.
Sonny stared at him. “He always was, man. He should have shot me.”
“He didn’t.”
“I know. Which is how I know that, no matter how nuts he is, he won’t hurt me.”
