by Anna Durand
It had taken JT a good while to track her down. Her parents took every precaution to hide her from him. In the end, they died for her.
Tears burned in her eyes. Her throat constricted, and her breath shuddered with a silent sob. Crying would not help. Neither would guilt.
The tears rolled down her face anyway.
"Dammit," she hissed, and swiped the tears away with her fingers. She hated crying. It solved nothing, and accomplished nothing except to make her eyes red and scratchy and puffy.
Her parents sacrificed their lives to preserve hers. If she hadn't gone to the Mojave Desert facility, if she'd stayed home, they might still be alive.
Six months ago, when David found her again, he explained how she visited the facility while on vacation, to see what her parents did there. They received permission to show her everything, and on a lark she participated in a test to determine psychic aptitude. The results shocked everyone, he said, because they demonstrated she not only had psychic abilities, but they were "off the charts."
Her parents shielded her with a false name, but her file remained in ALI's records — and that was how JT learned about her. Why didn't they delete her file? They couldn't have guessed what horrors would ensue. No one could have. They kept her file because it was part of their research.
The text on the screen blurred, her eyes too weary to focus. She rubbed her neck, rolled her head in a circle, and gave her body an invigorating shake. No time for sleeping.
She backtracked through the DVD's folders, located a file that looked promising, and double-clicked to open it. The file was a report of a meeting between Tesler and JT, written by the scientist. Tesler outlined every boring detail of the meeting, from their decision to repaint one of the conference rooms to their disagreement over what type of ballpoint pens to buy. Toward the end of the report, she spotted something that grabbed her attention.
"JT insists it is my fault," Tesler wrote, "that the boy won't cooperate. He believes if the he knows the truth then he will stop fighting us. I assured JT it won't work, and I have no intention of ever acknowledging the mewling mutant. The child has no discipline, no self-awareness, and worst of all, no spine. No one will ever know he is my grandson."
Grace froze, her fingers hovering over the keyboard. Grandson? She had trouble visualizing Tesler with a family of any kind. Was the "boy" sadistic like his grandfather, or merely an innocent victim of his own genetic lineage? Even the worst parents on earth could raise a decent child, through no doing of their own. Or maybe the kid's mother or father fled from Tesler.
Either way, this changed things. She didn't know how yet, but it had to. Tesler's grandson had psychic abilities. Maybe that explained why the man seemed hell-bent on tormenting psychics in order to capture their powers. She couldn't quite figure out how his tactics related to his grandson, but she sure as hell wanted to find out.
A boy. Tesler's notes called his grandson "the boy," without giving any details about the kid's age. The term boy might refer to a five-year-old or a nearly full-grown teenager.
Or even a man. To a sixtyish cretin like Tesler, even a man in his twenties might seem like a boy in comparison to himself. Without knowing the identity of Tesler's grandson, she had no way of knowing whether she'd met him or not.
Amador claimed if she kept on her current path, she'd learn things about David she wouldn't like. Had he meant this? Would she find out David was Tesler's grandson? No, he couldn't be. The idea was ridiculous. She knew David better than anyone else in her life.
Did she really? She knew he kept secrets from her.
Not this one. He could not have any familial ties with Tesler, the man who tortured him for months. Until she identified Tesler's grandson, however, she lacked anything close to certainty, about anything.
The truth might await her on the DVD.
She clicked on a folder designated "AP" for astral projection. It was one of David's main powers.
There it was. A file labeled "David Ransom."
A shiver swept down her spine, and she hesitated with her finger over the enter key. She needed to know. She feared what she might find. The truth usually came with strings attached — in the form of razor wire.
Suck it up, woman.
She hit the enter key. The file opened on-screen.
At the top of the document she saw a photo of David. He looked serious, as usual. Serious and beautiful, in a masculine way. A warrior with the face of an angel. Below the photo appeared the same kind of bullet points she'd seen in the other profiles, and below that, the list of his psychic abilities. Astral projection, thought projection, remote viewing. Manifesting was not listed, since he could achieve it only with her help, and apparently, no one at the facility had known about that. She scrolled down to see more of the document. A single line of text, printed in large red letters, rolled into view.
Her heart thudded. Fear exploded through her, cold and sharp, like a thousand microscopic blades tearing through her flesh from the inside out. No. She wouldn't believe it. No, no, no.
The line read, "ALERT: Extreme caution advised, subject has killed before."
Her ears rang. The room twirled around her. With a start, she realized she'd stopped breathing. As she hauled in long, slow breaths, she scrolled down to the next line of text in the file. Her breath caught in her throat, and a single word burst out of her. "No."
The document said, "During his stay at this facility, David Ransom murdered another traveler in cold blood."
Chapter Nine
Grace hunched on the bed, hands grasping the laptop, her gaze nailed to the screen. David's profile contained no further information about the traveler his captors asserted he killed. She'd spent the better part of an hour scouring through the records on the DVD in search of details, but finding none.
He must've killed the other traveler in self-defense or to save an innocent life. He was no murderer. Hell, she'd killed men before. Gunshots fired by her hand snuffed out the lives of Jackson Tennant and his right-hand man, Xavier Waldron. Not that she celebrated the fact. Not that she didn't occasionally suffer a twinge of guilt. But overall, she knew she'd done what must be done. Both men were evil, and she didn't apply the term lightly. Together with Tesler, JT and Waldron conspired to abduct, torture, and murder countless human beings simply because they displayed psychic abilities. Their deaths improved the world just a bit.
She knew why she took lives. Now she needed to understand why David had. To find out, she must ask him. Would he answer? Would he bare his secrets to her at last? Despite his secrets, despite his collusion in concealing the truth to her last year, she trusted him with her heart, her life, her very soul. He'd seen her through a horrific time in her life, and he had opened up to her when she needed him to the most.
Please, David, do it for me again.
Why this revelation about David appear nowhere in JT's personal data collection? Had Amador faked the file to upset her? With his agenda a big freaking question mark, she lacked the vital information necessary to decide. Vetting electronic data, especially the stolen kind, was not her forte.
The keys clacked beneath her fingers as she executed another search of the DVD. It coughed up no more information about John Mendoza. Combing through every file on the disk might take days, and she had a creeping feeling she didn't have that long.
Before she took any further action, though, she had to talk to David.
Snapping the laptop's lid shut, she slid the computer across the quilt, out of her way. Sitting cross-legged, she rested her palms on her knees and closed her eyes. Ghost images of the computer screen danced behind her eyelids for a few seconds. She took slow, deep breaths as she urged her body to relax and her mind to clear of all thoughts and worries. It was harder than it sounded. Thoughts ricocheted in her mind, gouging out bits of her self-control.
David killed someone.
Tesler is coming for me. Is David safe?
I have to do something.
Should I trust Amador?
Can I trust my own powers?
Lord almighty, she'd never get anywhere this way. The chaos in her mind threatened to drive her bonkers. She sucked in the deepest breath she could, held it for two seconds, and released the air slowly as she concentrated on counting out the seconds. Her shoulders relaxed. Her jaw loosened. The rest of her muscles followed suit, the tension melting out of them as she let go of more than the air. She let go of everything. Everyone.
Her physical body retreated from her awareness. Darkness replaced the light seeping in through her eyelids. She floated in the blackest night, alone, at peace.
With a swift determination, she soared through the crossroads to pulsing star that was David, and tumbled out into a twilit world.
For a few seconds, she wavered there, blind and numb from the trip. Then she spotted David. Seated on the floor, wedged into the corner of the room. Body slumped. Eyes closed. Mouth twisted into a frown. And he wasn't alone.
Another man sat in the opposite corner. His eyes were open. He stared at David without expression.
Grace looked around. Concrete walls and floor. No furniture. No windows. It was a prison cell.
She hurried to David, kneeling beside him. "Hey."
Though she knew the other man could neither see nor hear her, she still found herself whispering. David did not move or respond in any way. With her psychic wall in place, she couldn't feel him the way she usually did. The connection trickled through her instead of a flowing like a stream. Being so disconnected from him gave her a strange queasiness.
She said a little louder, "David. It's me. I'm here."
He cracked one eyelid open to peek at her. "I know."
"So why are you ignoring me?"
The other man said, "What do you know?"
David pushed into a more upright posture. To the other man, he said, "I don't suppose you'd agree to plug your ears and close your eyes for a few minutes."
"Why?"
David scrunched his lips and huffed a breath out his nose. He was thinking, she knew — thinking and annoyed. She recognized the signs. He must not fully trust his new friend.
He closed his eyes for a second, and then looked at the other man. "Someone is here to see me."
"Ahhhh," the man said. "I understand. I will do as you ask."
The stranger jammed a finger into each ear and shut his eyes.
Grace studied David. The stoic mask slipped over his features.
"I'll do most of the talking," she said. "I need to ask you a question."
"Fine."
"Well, several questions actually."
"Get on with it please."
His flinty tone stopped her for a second. "Are you okay?"
"Yes." The syllable hissed, snake-like, rife with impatience.
His state of okay-ness wasn't the main question plaguing her. She ached to ask the real question, but every time she formed the words in her head, her stomach twisted into knots.
"Go on," David said. "Whatever it is, ask it."
"Okay." She clamped her hands over her knees. "Have you ever killed anyone?"
His face paled. "Why would you ask me?"
"I — I came across a file that said you're dangerous because you killed someone at the Mojave Desert facility."
"Where did this file come from?"
"The man who lives at 1325 Meroz Road. Gabriel Amador."
He stared into her eyes with such intensity she wanted to look away, but recognized she mustn't. "Your telepathic stalker."
"Right."
"And you went to his house? Alone?" Hisses and growls punctuated the words. "Are you insane?"
"Possibly." Anger flared inside her. She clamped a lid over it, and lifted her chin. "I didn't have much choice, since you took off on another mission."
"Didn't you get my message? Tesler wants you."
"I'm staying at a motel and I ditched my old phone and car. I'm safe."
"For the moment."
She slumped, resting her hands on her thighs. "Amador offered to help me. He says he was a prisoner at another facility, in Siberia. I get the feeling he hates Tesler as much as you do." She dug her nails into her knees. "Amador said I'd learn things about you I wouldn't like."
David clenched his jaw. "Naturally, you believe everything your stalker tells you."
"No, of course not." She practically spat the words at him. "I am not an idiot, you know. That's why I'm asking you if it's true or not. Did you kill someone?"
"You shouldn't have to ask."
"Which is not an answer." Since he glared at her without speaking, she said, "We're engaged to be married, David. You say you love me. But you won't let me in on whatever secrets you're holding in. Why are you so afraid to confide in me?"
"You haven't been eager to the same."
"I have amnesia. Hello, stress alert! What's your excuse?"
He slumped deeper into the corner.
She longed to reach for him, to draw him closer. How had they spiraled so far away from each other? She trusted this man more than she'd trusted anyone else in her life. He was right, though. She withheld certain facts from him, just as he held back from her.
Amador might be aiming to drive a wedge between them. He needn't bother. They were fashioning their own wedge.
David raised a hand as if to touch her face but then, realizing he couldn't, he dropped his hand to his thigh. His eyes glimmered less blue somehow, less vibrant, as if the color had drained away along with his anger.
"You're right," he said. "I have no excuse for the things I've done to you. I've put you in danger over and over, without intending to, but intentions are meaningless. I betrayed your trust."
"No you haven't. Why would you say such a thing?"
"Because I — " He shook his head with a vehemence that ruffled his hair. "You have no idea what I've done, and it doesn't matter anymore."
His guilt and misery overwhelmed her, escalating her own. A tear dribbled down her cheek into the corner of her mouth. Bitter salt oozed over her tongue. She scuttled toward him and fell to her knees. "Please, David. Tell me what what you think you did. If you hurt someone, I'm sure it was self-defense — "
"Don't." His brow furrowed and his mouth twisted into an agonized expression. The look flitted across his face, vanishing within seconds as the old stoicism cloaked him. David the warrior angel returns.
She sank back onto her heels. David the distant angel. Unknowable, unreachable, untouchable.
Footfalls pounded in the corridor outside the room.
"Leave," David said. "Right away."
A command, not a request. She planted a hand on her thigh and bent forward. "I will not. I can help you escape."
"No." He snapped his back straight. "You'll only get in the way."
"Excuse me?"
"Go away."
The footsteps ceased outside the door.
She gaped at him. The anger in his voice. The stoic mask on his face.
Of course. Why hadn't she noticed earlier?
"You're lying," she said. "I can feel it, David. You're pushing me away out of fear. But of what?"
His eyes turned toward her, though he didn't face at her. "For once in your life, could you not be so goddamn stubborn? Curse me, hit me, yell at me. But don't be understanding. I'm breaking up with you, Grace."
She inched nearer. If she'd had a genuine body, her kneecaps would've bumped his thighs. With her face a breath away from his, she waited until he grudgingly met her gaze. "I don't believe you. And I will not allow you to break up with me. We have to fight for each other, not run away."
"This isn't the time or the place to discuss it."
"I agree." Weakne
ss rippled through her as her psychic energy dwindled. She wished like hell she could grab him by the arms. Throttle some sense into him. Instead, she glared into his gleaming blue eyes. "This conversation is not over."
She released the tether between their minds. As the crossroads dragged her back into the tunnel, she swore he mumbled, "Forgive me."
Then she was gone.
David blinked at the empty space where Grace had been a second earlier. He couldn't get the image of her out of his mind. The solitary tear dribbling down her cheek. The confused expression that morphed into sorrow, and finally, mutated into exasperation.
He'd expected tears. Dreaded them, yes, while knowing they must come. But frustration? It made no sense. Why didn't she rail at him?
Because she knew he was lying.
He cracked his fist into the floor. Pain shot through his hand, up his wrist, and smack into his forearm. He winced, grunting. He deserved the pain. After what he'd done to Grace, he deserved far worse than this. She'd loved him when no one else would. She trusted him. And how did he repay her faith? With a string of betrayals.
Nothing unfolded the way he'd planned. Someday, maybe she'd understand, and forgive him.
We have to fight for each other, she'd urged him, not run away.
Fight for her? Christ. He'd crawl naked through a jungle of poison thorns to revel in her warmth again. If he could guarantee her well-being. Which he'd destroyed in the first place.
Why couldn't she let him break up with her? He hadn't fought her refusal with much vigor. He let her have her way because…
He shoved both hands in his hair. He gave in because he didn't want to end their relationship. She was his weakness, and his strength. He needed her. She had no use for him, though she would deny it. His incompetence forced her to track him down, and her very presence here jeopardized her safety.
