He’d get that cow-mouthed skank back, even if he had to bide his time. She wouldn’t get away with this.
Back at home with plenty of time to think, Josh wondered if his head injury had changed him in some way. But he didn’t feel different, and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t muster a power. He’d tried to read Chloe’s mind when she came to check on him. He’d tensed every muscle in his body in a lame attempt to make himself levitate, and he’d tried to predict what show would be on television next. Nothing had worked, and no sign of turning special had shown itself. Neither Chloe nor Alex had asked anything about a transformation, and all his tries had been in secret. There was no reason to bring attention to the fact that he was still sadly normal.
He fought depression for the next several days as he rested up at home, not yet allowed to resume his job and normal life. The only respite he got was through music. He dragged his guitar into bed with him and played all the songs he’d written and some pop hits. When he ran out of material, new songs poured out of him, his outlet for venting the anguish and bitterness trapped in the depths of his soul.
Thanks to Alex’s memory, the cops had located the car that had run him down. It was stolen and then abandoned, not helping their search for the driver. No fingerprints were found, so the case was a dead end. There was no way to figure out who wanted to hurt Alex, and he had no way to protect her if the creep tried again.
A week later, he was in the middle of a particularly melancholic dirge when there was a knock at the door. Probably Chloe coming to talk his ear off. He wasn’t in the mood for it. He just wanted to be alone. But ignoring her would never work. “Come in,” he yelled.
He heard the door open and footsteps enter the living room.
“In here,” he called.
It was Alex. He definitely wasn’t up for that.
“Hi,” she said. “I just got out of class and wanted to check on you.”
He nodded at her but didn’t say anything.
She pointed to his guitar. “Don’t stop because of me. I’d love to hear you play.”
Josh picked up the guitar and hit a few wrong notes. His hands were trembling and his face was flaming, so he didn’t look at Alex. He placed his fingers on the strings, the position that long ago had gone from painfully awkward to comfortingly familiar for his hands. It was a bit difficult to focus with her in the room, so he closed his eyes and took a deep breath. That helped him relax. Then the notes began to flow out from him like a thin, waxy covering slowly dripping away.
Josh didn’t always play with his eyes closed, but when he was zoning into his music, he wished he could turn off his extra senses. He played for a long time, feeling the music, uncaging the emotions, and letting them run rampant. After a while—he didn’t know how long—he remembered Alex. Still playing, he opened his eyes to see what she was doing. She was in the armchair at the corner of the room knitting furiously on something. She seemed to be just staring off into space, not looking at him or her needles. He closed his eyes and resumed playing. A long time later, his fingers got tired, so he decided to call it quits for the evening. But when he opened his eyes this time, Alex was gone.
He probably should’ve made some attempt at conversation instead of ignoring her, but he’d been grumpy and not up for company—not even hers. Just the sight of her was a reminder of his flaws.
He put the instrument down and locked the front door. He wondered if she’d gotten bored, and then he noticed the clock—it was twelve-thirty in the morning. He’d been playing for over three hours without a break. His sore fingertips confirmed this, though he hadn’t noticed it earlier.
An enormous yawn overtook him, and he headed back to bed without even bothering to brush his teeth. As soon as his head hit the pillow he entered dreamland.
The next day Josh slept in late, but he managed to get up to use the bathroom and eat a piece of toast for breakfast. He even attempted to get the mail, but only made it halfway there before he decided he wasn’t ready to tackle the stairs. Back inside, he collapsed on the couch and dozed off for a while.
He woke several hours later sprawled across the sofa kicking himself for leaving the television remote out of reach. He didn’t want to move, let alone walk across the living room to retrieve it. Then an idea occurred to him. Telekinesis? Here goes nothing. Stretching out his arm, he willed the remote to come to him. When it stayed stubbornly put, he wiggled the tips of his fingers and scrunched his face in concentration. Come on!
“Abracadabra,” he muttered under his breath. Nothing happened.
A chuckle drifted from his front door.
Josh pulled his arm back quick, spinning to face the door. Alex stood in the opening with a hand on the knob. Her eyes were dancing with amusement.
“What?” he demanded, sinking back into the sofa.
She entered the apartment, latching the door behind her. “Hmm?”
“What the hell is so funny?”
She bit her lip. “Nothing.”
“Then why do you have that look on your face?”
“What look?” She tried to make her face blank, but it didn’t work.
“That look. Like I’m the funniest thing you’ve seen all day.”
“Because…are you trying to summon that remote?”
“No!”
“Yes, you are. You’re trying to see if you have a super power now, aren’t you?”
“I am not!”
“So you just randomly say ‘abracadabra’ when you’re alone? In that case, you might want to get your head checked out.” She grinned.
“No. I—just—”
“You should’ve seen the look on your face!” She put a hand to her gut and shook her head. “Oh, man. That’s not a very flattering expression.” She mimicked him, squishing her face up and puckering her lips, then burst into laughter. “Abracadabra!”
Josh clenched his jaw.
“I’m sorry, I’ve just never seen you look that intense before. You sure were trying hard.” She walked across the room and picked up the remote. Handing it to him, she said, “I’m just curious, why did you think you could move this with your mind?”
“It was just an experiment.”
Alex perched on the arm of a chair. “To see if you had acquired an ability?”
“Maybe.”
She smiled softly at him, the laughter in her expression gone now. “Josh, why are you trying so hard? You don’t need a power.”
“Maybe I do.”
“But why?”
“It’s none of your business!”
“Okay, fine.”
“What are you doing here, anyway?”
She shrugged. “I had a few hours free. I thought maybe you would be playing your guitar and I could—”
“You could what? Sit over there, knit spastically, and watch?”
Her brow wrinkled. “Yeah, maybe.”
“Why? What in the world do you get out of all this? Is it entertaining to watch a miserable sick guy try to find some order to his life?”
“No, I just—”
“Then what, Alex? Why are you really here?”
She hesitated and looked back at him with a wary expression. “I feel bad for what you’ve gone through.”
In other words, she felt sorry his pathetic ass.
“I don’t need your pity. I don’t need you or anyone else to feel sorry for me.”
“That’s not what I mean. I just meant that I care about you.”
“Well, don’t,” he snapped at her, more harshly than he’d meant to. “I’m fine on my own.”
She held his gaze. “You aren’t fine. There’s more wrong than just your wounds.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Your music tells everything. You’re in pain.”
Josh clenched his jaw, biting back his words. When she’d been here listening to his music, she was secretly eavesdropping on his emotions? He couldn’t handle this right now.
“If there�
��s anything you want to talk about…” she began.
“There’s not. I’m fine,” he said through his teeth. “Maybe you should just go. I’m not up for company tonight.”
Hurt and surprise flashed across her face for a moment, but she covered it quickly. “Okay, if that’s the way you feel. I’ll see you around.” She was out the door before he could respond.
~
Later that day, Alex got a call from her dad.
“How’s it going, honey?” he asked.
“Pretty well.” Alex cradled the phone with her shoulder and twisted a lock of hair around her finger. Her foot tapped idly. She was lying across her bed trying to avoid making eye contact with her textbooks, and trying even harder to stop thinking about Josh.
She turned her gaze to the picture on the desk—the one of her in the snow, her dad on one side and her mom on the other. That was kind of how it always had been. Her parents had rarely been on the same side of anything.
“How are the funds holding out? I deposited some more money into your account.”
“Oh, Dad. You really didn’t have to. I still haven’t used what you put in last month.”
“I know, but I’m worried about you. I don’t want you to be hurting for money.”
“How could I be? You have me covered—a few times over. I don’t need anything.”
“Well, in that case, go buy yourself something nice.”
Alex sighed. As if money fixed all wrongs.
“Are you doing anything this weekend?” he asked. “Got a load of homework?”
“A little. Not too bad, though. Why?”
“I haven’t gotten a chance to see you since you moved. I’d like it if you came for a visit. And I’m in town all weekend. I already bought you a plane ticket—I’ll email you the confirmation if you think you can make it.”
“What if I couldn’t?” she asked. Not that she minded a trip back home, but she wished he would come out here if he really wanted to see her. Neither of her parents had visited since she’d moved—that was one of the few things they had in common.
“I can exchange it for next weekend if it’s better.”
An airline pilot, Jim Hailey was always traveling here and there, barely home for a week straight. It was why she rarely saw him growing up—even before the divorce. It also accounted for his seemingly limitless funds.
“No, Dad. It’s fine. I can make it.”
“Great. See you in a few days.”
~
After taking care of the less-than-obliging hostess, Nic removed any evidence from her home and thoroughly disinfected himself. The following day he made a decision: he would get back on task. Needs or no needs, he didn’t have time to mess with hookers right now. Slitting Cow Mouth’s wrists and watching her bleed out had stirred something inside him and reminded him who still needed her payback. Right now he had to track down the perfect weapon—without a firearm license. The last part was the trickiest, but he knew a few people who could point him in the right direction.
Nic walked into the dingy fried chicken restaurant. The hole-in-the-wall food joint reeked of grease, its pastel striped wallpaper peeling in some areas, stained in others. The linoleum floors were covered with a begrimed sheen—a mixture of dust and oil that thickened near the corners of the room.
The place was deserted, which was to be expected if the food was as disgusting as the décor. There was no one at the front counter when he approached, but a bony, bearded guy in a striped red-and-white grease-stained uniform with a chronic cough looked up from the deep fryer. He acknowledged his guest with a nod.
“You seen Gus around?” Nic asked the guy.
The man shrugged and looked back to his fries bubbling away in the hot oil. “Probably working. He mentioned he had a job today.”
“Thanks.” Nic left the joint and walked several blocks to a foreclosed warehouse Gus used off and on for his various business ventures. He was able to get in through one of the rusting side doors that didn’t lock properly. The place was dark and filled with rusting barrels and old crates. A light shined from somewhere behind the debris, shooting a few stray shafts through the room like laser beams. Moans came from somewhere near the light source. If he knew about this place, others might, too, and he didn’t have his old skill for dealing with unwanted guests.
Hands jammed into his pockets, Nic followed the illumination, tightening his grip on his knife. He could flick it open in one deft move if need be.
He crept up behind several large crates, peeking through a small crack. A man lay on an old folding table and another man stood over the first, his back to Nic. A single bulb hung over the table, silhouetting the standing figure.
The groan was louder now and had clarified into a cry of pain coming from the prostrate figure.
A curse came from the man standing. “Hold still. I told you, anesthetic is extra.”
A groaning protest.
“If you don’t quit moving, you’re going to make things worse. Sit tight and let me get this bullet out. Unless you have more cash tucked away somewhere.”
“But I don’t got any more. I don’t got en–GAA!” A cry of agony echoed through the room.
“There. It’s out.” There was a small plink as the doctor dropped something into a canister and reached for another instrument. “Now just let me get you fixed back up here.”
Nic stepped out from behind the crates and up to the man who was sewing up the other guy’s shoulder. “Hey, Doc.”
The doctor jumped then shook his head, his dull, wiry hair shifting onto his forehead. He guided it out of his eyes with a leathery forearm. “Don’t do that to me, Nic. I’m working here. You know I don’t give refunds. If you make me screw something up, it’s on you.”
Nic gestured at the guy on the table. He was just a kid—maybe nineteen—and scrawny at that. “What’s he gonna do?”
“What do you want?” Doc still looked annoyed, but that was just because Nic had interrupted his focus. He’d calm down soon enough.
“You seen Gus?”
Doc shook his head and went back to his needle. The kid swore and jerked suddenly, but Doc held him down, ignoring the protests and continuing with his business. “You needing a weapon?”
“Yeah,” Nic said. “Need a piece. Got my eye on somebody, and my knife’s not gonna cut it.” He smirked at his own pun.
Doc nodded without looking up. Nic hadn’t watched him at work before, and it made his skin crawl to see the crudeness of this setup. He tried not to think of what might have gone down when he’d used Doc’s services several years earlier. Thankfully he’d been out cold and didn’t remember the details. Always get enough cash for anesthesia—this kid would learn the hard way.
“Haven’t seen him lately.” Doc finished stitching up the kid and put the needle down. He wiped his hands with a dirty rag, grabbed a bottle of scotch, and took a swig, turning to face Nic as he did so. Nic waited, letting the doctor eye him for a minute. Doc offered him the bottle.
“Nah. Thanks.” There was no way Nic was sharing saliva and who knew what else with the guy. Just the thought of taking the bottle from the Doc’s blood-encrusted hands made him queasy.
Doc shrugged and took another swig. “So, how’re those eyes workin’ out for you?”
“Not so great, actually.”
The doctor cocked his head. “How so? You were fine last time I saw you—what, two months ago?” He waved a hand in front of Nic’s face, causing him to blink. “You don’t seem to have reverted. You can see this?”
Nic glared at him. “I’m not having problems seeing. I’ve lost my enhancement.”
Doc stared at him for a beat, but when he finally registered the words, his mouth dropped open. “You mean—?”
Nic nodded grimly. “Yes.” He folded his arms across his chest.
“When did that happen?”
“When a stupid witch sprayed me with pepper spray.”
A bellow escaped Doc’s mouth before he clam
ped it shut tightly.
A spark of anger flared in Nic, and something in him started churning. He cursed aloud. “I need my ability, Doc! I can’t survive without it.”
Doc’s expression changed, his smirk replaced by a pensive frown. “Hmm. I wonder what caused that…” He was silent for a few minutes. “Pepper spray, you say?”
Nic nodded. “I never eat pepper. I’m allergic. You think that has anything to do with it?”
“Hmm. Perhaps.”
The kid on the table moaned softly, but they both ignored him.
“This is serious, Doc! Not some joke. Is there any way to get me back to normal?”
“Normal, as in how you were after the surgical fluke or normal, as in blind?”
Nic clenched his teeth. “You know what I mean. Can you do it?”
“Well…” The doctor stroked his chin with his hand. “That depends on the exact cause of the…uh…side effect. I need to do some research.” He stroked his chin, focused on something unseen. Suddenly his eyes brightened and jerked back to Nic’s face. He licked his cracked lips and narrowed one eye.
“Let me ask you this. If there was a way for you to regain your ability, even if it meant a risky procedure with no guarantee, would you be open to it?”
“What do you think?” Nic said through his teeth. That was the most asinine question he’d ever heard. “Of course.”
“There’s a risk you could go blind. You’d need to understand that, before I’d agree.”
Nic shrugged. “Been there, done that.”
“I mean completely blind—not just legally.”
“Still worth the risk.”
“And I’d need cash up front, of course. You got funds?”
“How much?” Nic asked.
“Fifty thousand at least. Maybe more. I need to do some research. I’ll let you know for sure when I find out.”
Nic nodded. “I can get the money.”
“Okay. I’ll be in touch.”
Nic left the warehouse and headed to his car, his mind buzzing with the new conundrum. He’d planned on an in-and-out. Purchasing a weapon, heading out to find the woman.
Outsider: The Flawed Series Book Two Page 11
