My reflection in the mirror reminded me that I needed medical attention. Once I caught my breath and the flush left my cheeks, I looked haggard. Circles darkened my eyes, and cheeks were drawn. If I could avoid my father, and Mace, I could get my head, and my heart, checked.
I left my room and made my way outside. The air was colder than when I’d gone in, and I’d not been indoors long. But I would swear it was ten degrees chillier. What was going on with this weather?
I hurried along. My father would want to see me, and I didn’t want to be waylaid on my way to the doctor.
While I traveled, I managed not to make eye contact with a single person. I didn’t feel like seeing their startled expressions when they saw how disheveled I was.
Dr. Robinson had been my doctor since I was young. Back then, he’d seen me in an office decorated with giraffes and elephants. He’d had an easy laugh, warm brown eyes, and a treasure chest full of stickers to reward my bravery after booster shots.
He was gray now, and if we lived in a world like we used to, would probably be close to retirement. More importantly, however, he would keep my secrets from my father.
There wasn’t much resistance against Gil Lake in Roanoke, but what resistance there was came from a group that included Dr. Robinson. Not that anyone let me into those groups. Dr. Robinson did me the favor of pretending it didn’t exist and that he wasn’t involved.
Sometimes though, he would tell me things Brandon needed to know—like when there was about to be a bread shortage. The doctor had warned it could lead to riots, so we’d hidden some bread away. If anyone could be trusted with what happened to me, it was Dr. Robinson.
As I had a hundred times before, I opened the door to his building and stepped inside. What once must have been a high rise building was now empty except for Dr. Robinson’s office and home. He had a few rooms he shared with his wife, Elaina, who walked with a limp no one discussed.
I’d almost asked once, but closed my lips at the last second. My mother may have been dead, but she’d taught me some manners—like don’t stare, and don’t ask personal questions the first time I met someone. I hoped wherever she was in this universe she appreciated that some of her instructions hadn’t been forgotten.
Dr. Robinson’s offices were on the ground floor of the building. A broken and deteriorating sign near the non-functioning elevator labeled other doctors of various specialties. When I was young, there used to be more doctors, but whatever happened to them, I didn’t know.
Today, I found the doctor himself staring out the window, and I realized, I couldn’t remember the last time I’d seen Elaina. He must have seen me approach. There were no other patients present.
I closed the door behind me, and he spoke before I could. “That was quite a disappearing act you made. I thought you might come here when you got back from wherever you were. Did you get hurt?” He pointed at my head.
I nodded. “Yes. And there’s something going on with my heart.”
He rubbed his chin. “Come sit down. Tell me what happened.”
The door swung open to the office with a bang. Both of us turned to see who was there. My stomach dropped when I saw my father leaning in the doorway. Much like Mace, his jaw clenched when he saw me.
“Thank you for looking after Whitney, Steven. I’m afraid that today I’m going to have my personal physician see to her.” He smiled tightly and then turned his body sideways. “Out.”
Was my father throwing the man out of his own office? “Dad—”
“I certainly don’t mind consulting with your physician, Gil. I realize he may not have as much experience as me, but it won’t be any trouble.” Dr. Robinson stood, and though he may have been bent with age, he managed to project something my father didn’t—dignity.
Dad approached the older man. “You don’t want to cross me in this, Steven. If you value your life, and the life of your wife, you’ll go.”
I watched as the fight drained out of Dr. Robinson. Looking over his shoulder at me, he gave a half-hearted smile. “Come back with any questions, Miss Lake.” He shuffled by my father, ten years older than he had been seconds before.
His gray head disappeared, and my father stood aside. Another man entered, but it wasn’t the physician I’d been expecting. My father did have a personal physician—a slick, well-dressed man with a false smile who wore pinky rings and fancy watches.
This man was a stranger.
Tall, thin to the point of emaciation, with small black eyes and a long-toothed smile, the man held out his hand. “Whitney.” His voice was thready and nasal. “It’s a pleasure to finally make your acquaintance. Your father has told me so much about you. I’m Dr. Karlton.”
I glanced to my father who regarded me with no expression.
Finally, I answered, “Hello.”
His answering smile was frightening. “Good. Good. Now, let’s examine you.” He began to putter around the room, opening drawers and cabinets. Piece by piece, he placed instruments on the counter. Stethoscope. Reflex hammer. Otoscope. It seemed innocuous enough until he removed a heavy, stainless steel syringe and a dressing gown.
“I want you to get changed into this so we can see how far you’ve progressed.”
In one smooth slide, I got off the table and edged to the door. “I’m actually not feeling well, so I’m going to rest and come back.”
“That’s why you’re here, Miss Lake. Because you don’t feel well.” He held out the dressing gown and shook it. If he expected me to get changed in front of him, he was delusional.
My father moved in front of the door, and behind him, I saw Mace leaning against the door to the office.
“What’s going on?” I asked. My heart sped up, thudding in my chest, and a cold sweat broke out along my spine. “What is this?”
“Mace,” my father called out, and the room was suddenly three sizes too small. Mace crowded me, and with nowhere to go, I backed into the table.
Mace was huge, and for a second, I recalled Dante’s size. But Dante would never use his height to intimidate someone. Broad shouldered and barrel chested, Mace didn’t hesitate to push me against the wall and hold me there, arm against my throat.
I struggled against him, but he held me immobile. My father’s hand reached past Mace to grip my wrist and pull it toward him. I knew what he was going to do before he did it, and yelled, “Stop! It slides off!”
On my wrist was a bracelet Brandon had woven for me long ago—braided thread in shades of blue was strung with tiny beads. But my father didn’t stop. He ripped at it, and I heard the beads clatter to the floor before he held it up. One bead was left, and without the others nestled next to it, I could tell it was larger and the color duller than the other beads.
“What is that?”
“Don’t pretend, Whitney, you know what it is.” Mace dug his fingers into my collarbones. The skin was thin there and it hurt. Twisting, I tried to dislodge him, but he only pressed harder. “It’s a bug.”
“Is it?” Dad asked, as disinterested as if he was remarking on the weather.
The words didn’t make any sense. “What?”
Neither of them answered. Dr. Karlton suddenly approached. His gaze flicked toward Mace. “Hold her,” he said.
“I don’t understand.” I really didn’t. Who would have bugged me and when? The six guys hiding from the rest of the world? Why would they have bothered?
“The Resistance. You’ve been letting them track you for years.” Mace pushed against my throat again, and I choked.
What? Dr. Robinson’s Resistance? They had bugged me? Tears rushed to my eyes. I’d been pretty good about not crying up until now but this was too much. Did that mean Brandon had bugged me?
Pull it together, Whitney. Pull it together.
My tears refused to listen. “I didn’t know that was there.”
“She’s lying.” Mace laughed humorlessly. “She went out there to meet the Resistance. There is no other reason in the world she’d be out in Infected inf
ested areas by herself.”
I shook my head. “Listen.” I couldn’t lie like my father did, straight-faced. But one thing I’d learned over the years was that the best lies had truth in them. I could tell them what they wanted to hear and leave out what they couldn’t know. “I wanted to find Brandon. And if he was Infected, I wanted to take care of him.” There.
My father sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Karlton, you can stay. Mace, out.”
Mace frowned and didn’t let go of me. “Sir, I’m not sure you can do what needs to be done.”
“Don’t question me. You don’t decide what to do with my daughter. Out.”
Mace dropped me, and I slid down the wall, hard, and hit the floor. When the door closed, dread filled me. What was bad enough that my father didn’t want Mace around? I was pretty sure they’d committed murder together. “Dad, this doesn’t make any sense. If they bugged me, wouldn’t they bug this room?”
My father shook his head. “You weren’t bugged, Whitney. You think I’d allow that?” He stomped on the bracelet and smashed the bead against the tiled floor. “Mace has always been paranoid. It’s good for him to think he’s right every so often. Now. I know how you think, Whitney. And I knew right where you’d go. So my question is this—how many of them are there?”
“Resistance? I have no idea. How would I know how many of them there are?”
My father sighed dramatically. “Not the Resistance. I could squish them anytime I wanted. They’re an annoyance that I allow to continue because the enemy you know is always preferable to one who takes you by surprise. A movement being led by old men and defeated women? No, I want to keep them right where they are. Now. Stop playing dumb and tell me about the Uncontrolled Infected running around. I know Brandon is one of them. Who else did you meet? How many are there?”
I swiped at my tears and sniffled. “What?”
My father looked at Karlton. “Looks like she’s choosing the hard way.”
Choosing the hard way? I didn’t even know what we were talking about! One minute he was talking about the Resistance and the next Brandon.
Dr. Karlton reached for me, bony hands wrapping around my arms. He was deceptively strong and hauled me to my feet easily. I was so surprised, I didn’t fight him until he jammed a needle in my neck and pumped a burning liquid into my veins.
“What are you doing?” I asked. Each word was more difficult to articulate than the last.
My vision blurred and Dr. Karlton’s face wavered in front of me. “Trying something,” he said and smiled.
10
Brandon
Dante finished sewing my bottom lip together and grimaced. “Now you will have a perpetually split lip. Hope it was worth it.”
I eyed Nick and Carson, both of whom sat with their elbows on their knees and stared at the ground. We all looked like chastened schoolboys. And all of us were worse for wear.
The door slammed, and John strode inside. He must have changed because he and Isaiah had come to blows, and when I left him to carry Nick to Dante, his trousers were torn and his shirt was missing a sleeve. Now, however, it was as if he’d just left a board meeting.
“Your girlfriend is back at Roanoke. Some meathead grabbed her.” John sat on Dante’s chair and threw his hands in the air. “I guess that is that.”
A meathead. Mace.
“Did he hurt her?” I asked, Mace got off on hurting things. When we were kids, he hurt animals, and as adults, he loved to hurt people. As Gil’s right-hand man, Mace had the opportunity to do what he loved.
“He was rough,” John said. Nearby, Dante’s head snapped up, and he frowned. “But he didn’t hurt her. There were Infected. He arrived before me. Probably saved her life.”
All I could do was nod. It was the way it had to be now. Whitney was gone, and she wouldn’t be coming back. At least she was alive. I could give her that.
“Anyone see you?” Carson asked John, whose only response was to lift his eyebrow. “Right,” Carson replied. “Of course not.”
“I’ve healed you as best I can. Nick, I’m going to have to work on a brace for your hand. I think I can fashion something to support your broken fingers.” Dante began muttering as he opened drawers and began to pull out circuit boards, screws, and metal plates. “Come back tomorrow and I’ll have something ready.”
I pushed myself off the cot where I sat. “Thanks, Dante.” I began to stand when a sharp, concentrated pain shot through my neck. Immediately, I slapped my hand to the skin, the way I would if a mosquito bit me. At the same time, however, my friends made similar motions.
“What the hell?” Nick asked and then winced.
I knew why. The concentrated burn was spreading. It moved along my neck to my shoulder, down my arm. My veins were filled with fire.
I hit the ground. Had I ever known pain like this? I rolled to my side and heard a crash as Dante did the same. The bigger man shook the entire floor with his crash.
Someone cried out—Isaiah. What was happening to all of us? My whole body was aflame. Had dying even hurt this badly? I didn’t think so.
And then peace hit me, a floating sensation where I thought for a second that I’d left my body. Maybe I had. The world went black.
11
John
The pain stopped, and suddenly I wasn’t in the room with the others anymore. Had I died? Was this it? Was it finally all going to be over?
But this didn’t look like heaven or whatever. Not that I’d ever believed in any afterlife anyway.
Ha. Irony.
In fact, it was like I was in a doctor’s office. Or a dentist. It might even have been my dentist’s office except that the couches were the wrong color. Was hell a dentist’s office?
And then I saw her. Brandon’s girlfriend Whitney. She lay on a bed, writhing in pain, two men standing over her. They were… hurting her. One of them yelled before they shook her hard. What in the fuck? She was supposed to be getting help here. She had a head injury and apparently a whacky heart. I rushed over to her, intending to grab whoever the man hitting her was, but I passed right through.
Crap. Was I a ghost? What was happening? Whitney opened her eyes, staring at me. “John?”
She sounded as confused as I felt. I put out my hand, and she took it, linking our fingers. They were solid together. The men continued to yell at the table where Whitney’s body lay. She left her body behind as she stood with me.
Okay. Maybe we were both dead. “Whitney? Where are we?”
She looked around, eyes dazed. “My doctor’s office.”
“What are we doing here?” That was my question? Her body still lay on a table while her spirit stood in front of me, and I wondered why we were in a doctor’s office. I mentally slapped my forehead.
“I…” She leaned against me, and surprisingly I let her. I didn’t usually like to be touched. But this felt natural. “I know what I’m doing here. They’re hurting me.” She looked down at her hands. “Even now somehow. They’re hurting me. Because they want to know about you guys. I think I might be hallucinating you.”
I shook my head. “Not unless we’re hallucinating together.”
“Is that possible?”
I laughed. “Is reanimating corpses possible?”
“It would appear so.”
“Well, then, there’s our answer for now. I’m sorry they’re hurting you. I’d stop them if I could.”
Right then, my breath caught in my throat. The sensation was odd. It had been such a very long time since I’d breathed at all. What was happening? She widened her eyes like she’d felt it, too. But instead of feeling good she choked.
“Can’t. Breathe.”
“Whitney,” I yelled at her, shaking her slightly as the air seemed to return to her lungs. Had I somehow taken her air from her?
Her hand was ripped from mine, and she flew back into her body. One of the men pushed against her chest and then grabbed a box from the floor.
“Stand back,�
� he said. There was a beep, and her body jerked. I was pulled away from her, and my eyes suddenly opened. I was back in Dante’s workshop.
My chest expanded again, and I stared down at it in disbelief. I was breathing—and my heart—I touched my fingers to my neck. My heart was pumping because I had a pulse.
My chest hurt, like a huge weight sat upon it or someone had punched me in the sternum, but I was breathing. Around me, my friends lay unconscious.
And amazingly, their chests rose and fell as well.
Something miraculous had happened, but I couldn’t help feeling it had come at a huge cost.
12
Whitney
I woke up gasping for breath. Dr. Karlton stood over me. My body ached and felt sluggish. I brought up my arm to push him back, but it moved in slow motion, and he easily swatted it.
“Are you ready to talk?” he asked.
I could barely form words, so I wasn’t sure what he wanted me to say.
“Whitney.” Dad’s face came into focus. “Who did you see?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I knew.
“Brandon is out there. Walking around. Talking. In control. I want to know how.” My father’s face was an inch from mine. He was finally beginning to look his age. This close I could see every line and wrinkle. His fair skin was beginning to freckle despite his attempts to stay out of the sun. There was only so much one could do in this new world. Botox and line-fillers weren’t as readily available as they used to be.
“You’re starting to look old, Dad,” I whispered. “You should consider relaxing a little bit.”
He frowned and glanced at Dr. Karlton before nodding. I wasn’t prepared for what happened next. If anyone had told me what my father was capable of doing, I wouldn’t have been surprised. But if they’d told me he would do these things to me, even though I knew he didn’t love anything, I would have doubted it.
I heard the bones in my hand break before I felt them. The burning liquid he’d dumped into my veins was nothing like the agony I felt now. Such small things, hands, but it hurt so badly I puked.
Lightning Strikes: A Reverse Harem Paranormal Romance (The Storm Book 1) Page 7
