Gilded Lies

by Lin Lustig

  She felt John's dread. Licia's hatred towards Aubrey threatened to snap free. She kept the bands of her emotions tightly wound to her heart and reinforced her internal walls against any of her feelings escaping.

  “Let's go,” Licia said. The extra effort for control drained her stamina until she shook. She needed to eat, but even the thought of it made her panic.

  “Is he fucking you, too?”

  “Aubrey!”

  Aubrey, dressed in a pencil skirt with three-inch heels and a lab coat, leaned over to stare directly into Licia's eyes. The intimidation wouldn't work, not with so much seething rage tightening in her chest. Aubrey blinked first.

  “He will.” Aubrey said. “It's part of him, of his abnormality, or hadn't you figured that out yet?”

  “Stop it.” John ground his teeth, a spicy fury rising in him that didn't match the venom his wife spewed.

  “How else do you think he made his way to the top?”

  John lurched forward. Licia caught his anger and shame, fusing them together to freeze him in place. They needed another route in. Taking on this woman directly when Licia couldn't understand how her emotions worked wasn't going to help. Without remorse, Licia knew they weren't going to sway her to stop peacefully. Aubrey had to be the opposite of Licia's highly sensitive wiring, and she had no idea how to manipulate someone so alien.

  “If this is how you treat your husband, I can't imagine how you treat your patients.” There was no winning this. Licia eased up on John's emotions, then took his arm. “Come on.”

  “Yes John, enjoy your new partner, but don't pound her too hard, her bones might shake apart.”

  Licia buried the barb. Aubrey was torturing a kid, and Licia would never give up on a child, not after everyone had given up on her.

  The images faded and the paralysis subsided. Then a bitter coffee-flavored hopelessness invaded Licia's system like a hurricane, swirling and building upon itself until her eyes bulged. The sense of being trapped wrapped around her, but it wasn't her own emotion. John's concern she recognized. Emerson's determination. A stranger's greed. Who was trapped?

  There was a blade at her throat, and she felt a cool line stretch along her skin. The emotional bombardment broke her protective walls and wards, churning the emotion within and without her into a chaotic storm. Panic flared at the sudden vulnerability. The man holding her retracted his tongue from her cheek, leaving a damp line that immediately chilled in the night air.

  She snapped.

  CHAPTER 15

  Emerson

  Emerson wrenched away as John released his hold. Licia was nothing more than a little girl next to the mugger's girth. Unless she had training, there was no way she was getting out of that hold.

  His own training kicked in. Emerson tapped down his desire to take energy and snatched his phone from the grass. He reared back, aiming between the man's eyes when Licia twitched. John moved faster than Emerson thought possible and trapped his throwing arm.

  Emerson had to back up or risk falling. “He's going to kill her!” He yanked out of John’s hold. There was no telling how well he'd stoppered his hollow ability.

  “Don't get near her.” John's pupils dilated as his skin paled and beads of sweat scattered over his forehead. He stared at Licia. Emerson glanced back at her.

  Her nostrils flared. Her pale, milky-blue eyes suddenly focused and a roiling disgust made Emerson take a step back. The attacker jerked away like he'd been burned. Something heavy pressed on Emerson's chest, squeezing until he saw flashes of wrecked cars, uniforms, and blood. The fresh, crushing guilt almost knocked him off his feet.

  The attacker sprang away from Licia. He cowered and babbled, tears streaming down his face. She seemed to tower over him, her stature dwarfed by the air of rage and fear and pain circling her like a murder of crows. John doubled over, breathing in tight hissing breaths through his teeth.

  Emerson itched to hold him up because John must be dying. Emerson had failed him. He was to blame. He'd absorbed too much. Always taking, taking, taking. He sank to the ground. “I'm sorry. Sorry. I didn't mean to.” The words tumbled out of him. The blood loss shouldn't have been enough to kill them. Their injuries were minor enough to make it. He never should have joined the service. He should never have been around the injured. He'd taken too much. He took their lives. He wished he could take his own.

  “It's her. Don't let it in.” John's words rasped into Emerson, breaking the vivid spiral.

  The mugger at Licia's feet turned the knife on himself. Instinct pushed Emerson to reach out, but it was too late. The man slit his own throat. His blood sprayed Licia, then spilled in oozing waves as he collapsed. His dying rasps were too loud, scraping against Emerson's ear drums, pulsing in memory with other last breaths. All Emerson could do was watch the man die.

  John gagged and coughed. His long legs wobbled as he stood and drunkenly approached her. “Licia, I'm here. Can you hear me? I'm not going anywhere.”

  Her black clothing showed none of the blood stains, but her too-pale skin made the red droplets look neon.

  But then the blood seemed less horrible, less damning. The weight on his chest eased until his breath flowed. John's breath smoothed and deepened as well. He stood at Licia's side, not touching, but he looked at her with intimate intensity. Emerson wanted to run after him and tear him away from the monster in their midst, but instead John set a gentle hand on her shoulder.

  Licia's attention moved from the body to John's face, then abruptly to the path away from them both. She shrugged off his hand and used her sleeve to wipe the splatter from her face. It smeared.

  John caught Emerson's eye with an expression that didn't make sense. He looked so sad. “You okay?”

  He meant to lie, but instead said, “No. What the fuck was that?” It came out like the chop of a guillotine.

  “Licia... lost control.” John moved half a step between her and Emerson.

  “She did this? Is that why you held me back, so she could kill him?”

  “What? No—”

  “Yes.” Licia still didn't look at them, but she commanded their attention. “He knew I’d kill him.”

  Emerson's gut soured. “What?”

  “I didn’t know for sure. It’s not like that.” John's voice turned pleading.

  “I’d probably have killed anyone too close. It wouldn’t be the first time. For all you know, I’ve killed dozens.” Her voice trailed off. She rubbed her throat where the blade had been.

  Emerson couldn't make sense of it. She was a murderer.

  “You have not, Licia. Just stop,” John snapped. Emerson couldn't see his face, but the expression earlier made sense now. The way he approached her like a wounded animal. The soft way he spoke her name. The knowing. John knew this whole time what she was, and despite her evil, he was in love with her.

  Emerson wanted to puke. “You never turned her in?” Meeting John's familiar hazel eyes felt like a betrayal. He'd loved this man. Slept with him. Protected him. How could John love someone who would do this?

  John's voice broke. “It's not what it sounds like. The others were self-defense—”

  “What the fuck is wrong with you?” He'd spent every waking hour making sure the people around him had enough. And yet this thing that stole life had John's love? Emerson's mind spun as did the ground. A wave of light-headedness made him stumble.

  He glared at Licia. “You disgust me.” Emerson didn't recognize his voice. Life stealer.

  “Good.” She raised her chin.

  “Stop it, both of you. Licia what happened? I thought you'd disarm him, why...?”

  “I didn't mean to.” She looked away from them both. “I was going to make him reconsider when I felt like I was trapped in my head with no control, then I started seeing things from our past and felt... but then there were these emotions that didn't belong to any of us and they overwhelmed me.”

  “Wait, say that again.” John's body tightened, all focus falling on the monster.<
br />
  “There was a pressure, and things lost dimension, then I couldn't see or feel the park. All I saw was the clinic where we...” she hesitated. “It was like a memory but too vivid. I had one before I left Boston, too.”

  John stopped breathing. “I've had them, too. No emotions that didn’t belong, but the vivid, visceral memory. Like reliving it.”

  Emerson felt a cold rush drop from his stomach to his toes. “Fuck. So have I.”

  Part Two

  CHAPTER 16

  Tarrah

  The riptide vision tore away, searing Tarrah's insides like hot oil. Her heart felt too small for the rapid pumping. She strained against the Velcro holding her to the hospital bed as her overlapping realities began to fade.

  Hospital. She was back in the hospital. The thrashing must have returned. The stronger the vision, the harder she reached out. Not just dreams then. By her side, Dr. Benson retracted a needle tip from her IV line. Rubbing alcohol burned her nose. The lights were all too bright compared to the darkness of the vision. Those three were living such vibrant, terrifying lives, but details began to fade. At least she knew their names and faces now.

  “Welcome back, again. Twice in a day?”

  Her tongue felt too thick for her mouth, but Benson knew she had no control over the visions.

  When Tarrah didn't say anything, Benson released the Velcro restraints and said, “Why don't we get you some lunch? I'll get Andrews to bring you a tray.” Andrews was on shift now? Then she'd been out for a couple hours at least.

  Tarrah nodded, feeling her hair mat further at the base of her neck. The IV itched on the back of her hand. Something like an IV wouldn't bother Licia or the men. There was something about the pale woman that had Tarrah hoping her visions weren't over. Licia was both weak and powerful. Her body was similar to Tarrah's: small in stature yet hiding a destructive power. But Licia was lucky, her ability destroyed others, not herself. Yet, there was no condoning murder.

  Dr. Benson busied herself checking Tarrah's vitals. At least her heart no longer felt like it was ready to burst free. “We'll wait to test the new Jammers once you've stabilized. We've got time.”

  No, Dr. Benson had time, but Tarrah? How much longer could she live like this? For four years she'd been trapped behind pale walls with only nurses and a TV to keep her company. The idea of even one more week hollowed her out—a black hole where her heart once was.

  “No,” Tarrah croaked. Dr. Benson didn't respond, but she did stop her busy work. “I don't want to do this anymore.”

  “This is a necessity.”

  “Then I want to check myself out.” She was in the same city as Licia and John. They'd been just over in Central Park. Though... maybe not today. It had been dark in her vision, but it was still light out now.

  “Tarrah.” Benson said her name like a warning. Why was she always the only one here? Andrews was coming. She'd make sure Andrews backed her up.

  The medications would never work on her. None of them did. Not the first Jammers, and not the new ones, and those were the experimental drugs after conventional medications had done little more than infect her with a slew of side effects. Enough.

  She reached for her IV, intent on pulling it out like they did in those TV dramas, but Benson gripped her wrists with a strength Tarrah could never compete with.

  “You don’t get to just check yourself out.”

  Worry started to bleed through her determination. “You’re supposed to help me heal, but I don’t want this anymore.” Maybe she wasn’t saying the right thing. This place ran a little differently than the hospitals back in London, but this was her first and only experience with the States. Was this not how they did things? Dread welled in Tarrah’s stomach.

  “My job is to make sure we learn everything we can from you and use it to further our research. To help other kids like you.”

  Kid? She was nineteen. “Good for you, but please let me go.”

  “That's not possible. For one, you'd die in a matter of weeks. Second, you're not technically here, so you can't technically be discharged. I will uphold my oath to keep you healthy and safe, even from yourself. I lost my best subject once, and I'm not going to let that happen again. There's so much good we can do.” Her eyes gleamed with righteous intensity.

  The door opened and Andrews, a middle-aged woman with tightly coiled hair and a bright smile, eased into the room with a tray of food balanced in her right hand.

  “I want to leave!”

  Andrews lost her smile as her eyes jumped between Dr. Benson and Tarrah. Why wasn't she rushing around, calling the authorities, anything?

  “I'm sorry, Ms. West.” Andrews left the tray on the rolling table and left.

  “You signed up for this when you joined us. You signed as a legal adult and gave up your rights to make decisions about your health. There's nothing out there for you, so let us take care of you. You are incredibly unique; we only want to help.” Benson rolled the tray over, but Tarrah lost all pretense of an appetite. She was stuck here. How long would they force her to keep living?

  Stunned and hopeless, Tarrah refused to respond. She was never going to get out of here. She'd never get to picnic with her family or meet the child her parents had had to replace her. She'd never know love or a first kiss. This was it. She was going to die in this bed with no friends and no point.

  Warmth flooded past the rising panic, lulling her mind away from the edge. She didn't bother warning the doctor. The visions were her only way out. She was done running from them.

  Peace spilled through her, relaxing the pain and discomfort. Dr. Benson said something, but it was like Tarrah's ears were under water. More people entered her room. They tightened the Velcro over her wrists, but she didn't care. The heat reached from her toes to the crown of her head, soaking her in a bliss she rarely allowed herself to accept.

  But she'd get out of this hospital room. One way or another.

  CHAPTER 17

  Emerson

  Emerson tried not to look at the body cooling on the path; the blood seeping out in an ebbing flow.

  “Both of you?” the monster asked. She, too, kept her gaze away from her victim. He didn't think it possible, but she paled further and listed to the side. John was right there, almost eager as he steadied her.

  As John kept her upright, he said, “I had this vivid memory of you, actually. I thought it was stress.” He looked up at Emerson. There was no remorse in his expression, just concern.

  Emerson couldn't tell if he was concerned for Licia or concerned for the attack of memories they'd all experienced. “I can't deal with this right now.” He turned his back, but two steps down the path a pressure hooked into his heart and shocked him into stillness.

  “You can't leave,” Licia said.

  “Stop, he won't put us at risk.” John's voice was sincere, but Emerson wasn't so sure. He caught the end of their shared look. Licia rolled her shoulders and the pressure on Emerson's chest eased.

  Licia made laser-like eye contact with Emerson and said, “I need you to chill out, or I'll make you so calm you'll need a Xanax to perk up. Whatever that vision was, it came with emotions that didn't belong to you, John, me, or knifey over there.” She bobbed her head at the dead man. “The emotions came from someone trapped and hopeless. Anyone you can think of right now that might be an overpowered prisoner?”

  “The new test subject? But that's impossible.” John caught on before Emerson's brain could work through Licia calling her victim knifey.

  He caught back up. “We all do impossible things.”

  John shook his head. “Everything I've come across are elevated abilities of what anybody naturally does. We affect ourselves, or the people in our immediate vicinity. Most likely UHP is experimenting at one of their headquarters, so either back in Los Angeles, or D.C., hundreds if not thousands of miles from here.”

  “We can't keep discussing this here.” Licia broke in.

  John tipped his head towards the west ex
it and let Licia stand on her own before snagging the wallets and his phone.

  “We can't just leave him. We have to call the cops.” Emerson grabbed John as he tried to pass and spun him back.

  “We can't. He'll be found eventually. It's better if we're not here.”

  Emerson shook his head. Maybe if he'd tried to absorb Licia's ability, or if he was more agile, he could have reached her before she'd forced him to use the knife.

  “No. It's not right,” Emerson said.

  “And what is? Exposing our kind? Sending me to prison because I killed a man in self-defense? Or did you forget the part where he had a knife to my throat.” Licia's eyes glowed like a cat on the hunt. Invisible claws delicately scraped across his heart until a skitter of fear crawled over his skin. He looked back at John instead.

  “You knew. You knew about her this whole time.” Thinking of John lusting after Licia made bitter bile coat his throat.

  “Emerson. Listen, we have to get out of here first, then you can hate me.”

  “I don't hate you. I loved you.”

  “Loved? Just like that and everything between us is past tense?” John stopped coaxing Emerson to move.

  “I can't love someone who's in love with a murderer.”

  “I'm not in love with her!” John's voice carried. He stilled and flicked his gaze to Licia.

  Invisible weight plates crashed onto Emerson's chest, buckling his knees. The pressure stripped him of everything except shame and sorrow. The accident scattered through his memory; horrors burned into his brain flickered to the surface.

  Beside him, John rested his hands on his knees like an exhausted sprinter, breathing through his teeth. Emerson's instincts kicked in and he shoved aside everything he felt and focused on John. His charge was threatened, and it was his duty to protect him.

  Emerson moved an inch when the weight disappeared as quickly as it had come. Licia's nostrils flared as her breath heaved. Her eyes were wide enough that they shone pale even compared to her skin. Her knees shook, as did her hands.