by L. A. Banks
It was as though Marlene had hung a mental Do Not Disturb sign, and Damali could understand why. Marjorie was whispering platitudes to her husband, trying to work on her son, offering an olive branch to Dan, letting J.L. know he was loved, all the while attempting, without success, to shield her daughter from the whole of it. Meanwhile, Rider was working on Big Mike, trying to keep him from blaming himself for not being there, and Damali was trying to keep Inez from accidentally tripping over a land mine. The situation was outrageous.
It was a delicate dance, one she’d never wanted to have to do. But in the hours between getting everybody deescalated, gathering the remainder of what they’d take, and heading to an airport, she’d thought she might lose her mind.
Carlos sat aloof, as though watching some giant life experiment happening on a microscope slide. That really annoyed her, but then again, she checked herself, remembering he was from a big family and maybe none of this was that foreign. Or maybe he was still beating himself up over the relapse. The contagion was also a factor. She just didn’t know.
But rather than batter him with parables and platitudes, she simply gripped his hand and let her faith in him run through that touch as they sat on the flight to L.A., each consumed in separate thoughts. One thing was certain, the information that Kamal had dropped was chilling. His team was almost over the edge, which made her wonder what condition any of the Guardian teams worldwide would be in.
The temporary change of scenery would be good for them all. Twenty-four hours, and they’d be headed to China to summarily deal with the problem.
The Ritz-Carlton in Marina del Rey would seem like heaven, after being wedged in the small house for months. It was near the water, only a fifteen-minute walk to one of their favorite locales, Venice Beach. The boats would be pretty. Shopping and food and nightlife would be accessible. Maybe they could do what they always did as a team—live life to the max for the moment, and then hunker down to go to war.
Marlene and Shabazz, along with the Berkfields, would be able to easily hunt for a property in Beverly Hills or over in Santa Monica—since they had the balance of the afternoon before them. Perhaps Marlene was right about one thing; act as though there will be a tomorrow, and refuse to allow a defeatist attitude to prevail.
Cool heads and calm nerves were necessary, and if Shabazz could follow his own advice this time, routine was in order. Routine kept order. She prayed that her big brother wouldn’t snap under his suspicions and could just accept whatever Marlene had told him…. Marlene had left Kamal in the woods, after all. For now, given what they had to deal with, that was enough—she hoped.
The Berkfields also needed something to calm their ruffled feathers. Perhaps the delayed flight was divine intervention. This way Marj and Richard could do something normal, constructive, to keep their minds focused on the possibility of tomorrow, like finding a good school to enroll Kris in. Maybe Bobby could consider taking some college courses. She and Carlos could perhaps meander a bit and find places close by that they wouldn’t mind living in.
Twenty-four hours was a long time to dwell on disaster. Her orders had been clear. There was nothing in L.A. Her target was in the Himalayas, and for some odd reason, the Neteru Councils weren’t allowing her or Carlos just to leave everybody and quickly transport there. Her stones didn’t work; neither did his claw of Heru. Everything seemed harder to achieve. The conventional route was the only way.
They all had to find something constructive to do other than sit quietly and sulk and lose their minds. Trying to think on the bright side, she even considered going with Carlos to window-shop for the vehicle of his dreams. Maybe he could finally get his fantasy car and that would lift his spirits. She didn’t know what to do, and every prayer for answers that she’d sent up hadn’t come back down yet.
Getting back into the real world, being on familiar ground in L.A., would renew each sagging soul, she hoped. Going to Tibet might mean more than just a battle. Maybe after the Chairman’s head rolled, they could stay there for a while to get some spiritual reinforcement through nature, stillness; let the purity of the monks’ gentle presence and wisdom restore what had been stripped in battles and compromised by the contagion. Something had to give, Lord. Then they could come home, face whatever, come what may.
She clung to that hope, adding faith and hard love to it as they sat on the short flight, holding it all tightly in her heart the way she firmly clasped Carlos’s hand. When he squeezed hers back she fought back tears. This was stress.
“Baby, it’ll be all right,” she whispered, speaking as much to him as reinforcing that promise to herself.
“You wanna go to the beach this afternoon, or go house hunting?” Damali said, trying to shift the somber mood as she and Carlos entered their hotel room.
“We can do both,” Carlos said with a slow smile. “I’m just glad to be back in L.A.” He blew his breath out hard and flung his duffel bag in the corner. Then, with his back toward her, he quickly began to unpack only the toiletries he’d need overnight.
She refused to stay mired in the team craziness. Folks had gone to the mutual corners for a few hours. It would work out however it had to. Everybody seemed like they’d rather stay busy than focus on whatever issues were drilling a hole in their brains. Best move. That’s why she was out.
Rider and Jose had set off to go drool over Harleys. Krissy and Juanita were going to go somewhere and keep talking. Whatever. Big Mike and Inez had disappeared. Dan and Bobby were on a mission to buy laptops and gadgetry, seeming to take comfort in attempting to repair their rift. Shabazz had called ahead to some people who knew some people to have ammo discreetly delivered to the hotel; Marlene and the Berkfields had gone to scope out a new place for the team. J.L. was hanging close with Shabazz, supposedly working on ammo with him, and on how they could wire whatever real estate they found.
But everybody knew the deal. Both J.L. and Shabazz needed to talk to somebody to get their heads right. The appointments for travel shots had been made; a doctor would come to the hotel and administer what was necessary and backdate it. The right paperwork was in process, expertly arranged by Marlene. That meant that for the balance of the day, for once, the team’s Neterus were free.
Damali made short work of unpacking only what was necessary. The hotel was a good choice, as it was close to the airport, even though it was more businesslike than the A-list, pampering type of service one could find at The Four Seasons Beverly Hills. At this point, who cared? They’d already shaved off twenty-four hours of living; the infection was resident in them all.
The only thing Damali was concerned with was the fact that she’d wanted the team to be on the periphery of things, not in the heart of it. Right now she could deal with the Old World elegant European design, Italian marble bathroom, and private balcony closed off behind sheers that swathed French doors. She would appreciate all of it, just like she appreciated life with new eyes. Having a ticking time bomb within her and each member of her team had a way of putting a different perspective on things.
Damali almost sighed as she flopped down on the comfortable goose-down featherbed, glimpsing Carlos from the corner of her eye. The other problem was, he didn’t glimpse back at her. He hadn’t even made a passing reference to anything else they could do that day. Didn’t the brother realize they were about to go to war?
She refused to allow herself to slide into a foul mood. She had to remember he was going through withdrawal after a relapse, so his normal responses might not necessarily be all that normal.
He watched with relish as she raced up and down the beach. Damali was like an excited puppy that had been cooped up in the house too long. She made him smile as she’d come running to him, dance around a bit, tease him, and then run off to inspect something new she hadn’t seen today in the outdoor human carnival.
If she could just stay that way, laughing and full of exuberant life, his old prayers would be answered. He watched the waves chase her and the sand ooze betwe
en her bare toes as she scooted away before the ocean could wet her rolled-up jeans.
“You hungry yet?” she said, laughing, tugging on his arm to let him know that, regardless of his answer, she was.
Carlos smiled. “Not really, but we can go find something, if you are.”
He watched her smile fade and become quickly replaced by a worried one.
“Okay, later. Me neither. You wanna go drive up to the fancy-car dealer?”
Her eyes held such expectation and hope that he didn’t want to disappoint her. But he didn’t have it in him. The fly car was no longer important. A Jeep, something reinforced that could take a vamp crash-landing, would be more practical. “Why don’t we go scope out some apartments or some properties?” he said to deflect the trip to the showroom floor.
“Yeah! I’ll get a paper; we can cruise by some spots. What do you like?” she asked. “What’s your style, brother?”
He chuckled, but was worried. None of her behavior seemed normal. She was running around like no contagion existed, like the portals had never opened, and as though there wasn’t a problem in the world. Serious denial.
“Beachfront is cool,” he finally said, watching every person on the beach touch someone else in some way or another. Just taking change from a hot dog vendor was potentially deadly. Then his attention went to all the children. Damali didn’t see that? “But I’m more partial to looking down on the water,” he added.
She nodded and her brilliant smile became wider. “Aw’right. I hear you. Something with a cliff vibe,” she said, sounding like an around-the-way realtor.
He forced himself to smile, and then laugh a little. “Yeah, baby. Some habits are hard to break.” Then his mild chuckle died away in increments. “But maybe I can compromise and take a look at the beachfronts.” He reminded himself that it was time to change the old people, places, and things, and he’d do that if they ever got back from Tibet.
The cost of every place they stopped and gawked at was sky high, but she was on a mission. She hated the way his eyes remained so sad, a flicker of remorse always casting a shadow within them. Carlos had always possessed such joie de vivre, and something had stolen that from him. Even when he’d turned, he always had a passion for everything he did. Now something she couldn’t identify seemed to be quietly killing him inside.
Her hand caressed his cheek as he peered at the third property without enthusiasm. “We don’t have to make a decision today, baby,” she said in a patient tone. “We can figure it out when we get back from Tibet.”
“Yeah, maybe then I’ll have more of an image of what I want in my mind.” He sighed and watched the waves. “I just feel wrung out, and need to lie down. Just chill for a little while. Cool?”
She nodded and threaded her arm through his and led him back toward their Hummer. “You wanna go back to the room?”
“Yeah,” he said, mopping his brow.
New worry slithered within her. Daylight was clearly kicking his ass. It was balmy and nice outside, no intense L.A. heat yet, but he was sweating like he’d run a marathon under the sun.
He looked at her for a moment and held her hand as they walked back to the car, sensing. This mindless afternoon was crazy. They were wasting time. He opened his mental radar quietly as she bee-bopped along as though without a care in the world; he almost stopped walking as he picked it up clearly. Her spirit was dying. It was as though all her frenetic activity was sending out a last gasp to cling to the goodness in life. He couldn’t make out what part of this thing that arrested her soul was from the contagion, or perhaps coming from him. Maybe both. What he was sure about was the fact that, if they were linked at the soul level … and his had been compromised to the max … hers was fighting despair, defeat, anything that his might foist upon hers to allow the dark side to take it over and win.
They drove back to the hotel without talking. Damali peered at Carlos from the corner of her eye. He was so deep in thought that she didn’t want to intrude, and they’d just been through enough drama that she wouldn’t insult him with an outright trespass.
Damali squinted at the sun. Maybe he was bugging because it was near that transition time. She’d have his back, though. Wouldn’t let him relapse. She let the music on the radio fill in the blanks. Maybe once they did this portal shutdown, things would be better. She kept that goal before her as they valet parked and entered the Ritz-Carlton lobby.
As soon as Carlos was indoors, she noted, he seemed to normalize. His face began to lose the flush it once had, his skin cooled, and his expression became less pained. He even seemed to be breathing easier. But she was very careful to offer no comment as they rode the elevator to their room, went inside, and closed the door.
By rote, she went to the balcony and closed the sheers to discreetly block out some of the sun. “There must be a thousand or more sailboats and yachts out there,” she said brightly, forcing her tone to sound upbeat. “Once everybody gets back, rests, showered, and whatnot, maybe we can all eat dinner together somewhere?”
“Yeah. That could work,” he said quietly, stretching out on the bed. “I just need to catch up on some sleep, but you need to eat. Why don’t you go on down to the restaurant or something, and I’ll be all right in a coupla hours after a nap.”
“I’m cool,” she said, looking at him as he sprawled on the bed. “I can order up some room service.”
Carlos slowly shook his head and closed his eyes. “D, for real, right now the smell of food is gonna turn my stomach.”
He could feel her hesitate and then tentatively cross the room. He felt her slip onto the bed beside him. The feeling of having to puke up his guts had begun the moment he’d had her best interest at heart. When she cuddled up next to him, curling her body to spoon his and lie with him, the room started spinning. She had to get away from him, or he was gonna hurl.
The minute his brain and conscience began the battle, his guts felt like they were being torn into two separate sides of his abdomen. He’d started to feel like that during the late afternoon as they’d walked together on the beach, her laughter and hopes and dreams pummeling his memory, eviscerating anything foul from his mind, slaughtering evil within. By the time they’d started looking at real estate and talking about the future, he could barely breathe.
Carlos squeezed his eyes shut tighter. It felt like a carving knife was gorging out his gray matter at the temple.
Damali’s gentle palm slid down his shoulders, and sought refuge under his elbow to rest calmly on his stomach. “We’ll beat this thing together,” she murmured.
He gripped her hand and nodded without speaking for a moment. “D, the best thing for you to do right now is go eat, leave me be for a little while, and get the last rays of the sun. All right? Will you do that for me?”
She kissed the nape of his neck, hugged him hard, and then slipped away. He didn’t open his eyes until he heard the door firmly click behind her.
His face felt like it was burning up, as did the rest of his body. A liter bottle of expensive spring water, compliments of the hotel, beckoned him from the bathroom. His throat was so raw that he could barely swallow, and as he licked his lips, he could feel where they’d become blistered and chapped.
The sensation drew his hand to his mouth, and he quickly got to his feet and went to the mirror above the dresser, stopping in horror to stare. He needed water, but couldn’t make it to the bathroom to get it. He was too thirsty…. He needed blood—not water.
Dark circles had begun to form under his eyes and his lips were cracked, a whitish film of dead skin beginning to peel on them. She hadn’t seen that? As he stared at himself in frozen horror, he watched his red T-shirt begin to writhe and move, and he snatched it up over his head to expose his torso.
Long, straggling welts had formed across his stomach, raising his skin as though something unspeakable was trying to claw its way out of him. He watched, paralyzed, as the marks receded and disappeared. He couldn’t move, had no idea what had awake
ned the beast within him, or how to get it out of him. Just as suddenly as the welts had appeared, staggering lust swept through him and stole his breath.
Stumbling backward, he fell against the bed. Every piece of fabric touching his body felt like it was on fire, scorching his skin. He ripped at his clothes blindly, tearing at the multiple sources of pain until he sat naked, panting, his eyes sealed shut. Images of being with Damali cascaded through his mind.
“No,” he whispered through his teeth. “While you’re in me, you don’t get to sleep with her.”
Intense pain gripped his scrotum, but when he tried to call out, his voice was silenced. A brutal force slammed him down on the bed and then dragged him up toward the headboard, smashing his skull against it. He could feel his limbs bound by a force too strong to break, and as he lifted his head and struggled against it, he watched his stomach writhe as though something alive were within it.
A dark dribble of fluid oozed from the tip of his erect member. It seeped down his shaft, creating a puddle in his pubic hair, and then began to send tiny, pulsing tendrils to cover his exposed groin in a dark, siphoning sheath. Agony collided with pleasure until tears stung his eyes. His jaw was sealed shut; the scream became lodged in his throat. Excruciating pleasure made his eyes close to half-mast. Helpless, he could only watch the sheath pulse and suck against him as it flicked at the bulbous vein that was now standing beneath the head it lapped at, and sent the wet siphoning sound to pierce his ears to intensify the wanton desire.
The heat of near orgasm clutched his abdomen and made his hips pump furiously at the air, and then the black liquid dissipated, the force holding him down retreated in a loud snap.
Carlos sat up fast and held his shaft where it still burned and throbbed, his hand replacing the dark violation. The head was so tender and sensitive that, if he could have, he would have bent to suck it himself. Unable to resist the natural urge to release the built-up agony, his hand moved against the hot, slicked surface in spasmodic jerks, a gasp blocking a moan, the sound of wetness quickening his movements, until he came so hard that no sound escaped his lips.
