by Marx, J. A.
“Pain pills.” Jase pointed at the tablets. “Herbal. Sabio’s got a stash of ’em.”
Only then did she remember her head hurt.
The Asian placed a green shirt and denim shorts on the end of the bunk along with a white box bearing a red cross. Assuming the clothes were for her, she wondered where Akiko got the outfit. His hotshot façade couldn’t hide his rank as the subordinate hound of the pack. He posed no threat.
This excessive pampering made her jittery. She remembered to exhale after Akiko and Jase left the room.
The sphinx rummaged through the white box. He laid out bottles, packets, and other containers on the mattress. No needles.
Am I a rat in their experimental lab? Hope swallowed a lump of tension.
Isaac plucked tweezers out of the box. “Sabio and I want to get a better look at your head injury now that it’s cleaned up. If that’s cool with you.” His use of the word cool puzzled her.
More than that, his demeanor had a potent quality. Yet behind his aura of authority, she detected an attribute she deemed abnormal in a dominant individual. Mercy. His countenance flooded her with it. She sensed no logical explanation for this diametric phenomenon.
What does he want from me? Struggling to accept the alpha dog’s humane treatment, she clutched the sheet with both fists and pulled it to her neck, wishing they’d leave her alone. At his urging, she rolled onto her side.
While the sphinx shined a flashlight on her head, Isaac messed with her hair. His touch tingled. She tried to concentrate on something other than herself lying on a bed, loosely wrapped in linens, being examined by two strangers.
“Your name fits you.” Sabio said his first words.
She stopped her hands from mangling the cover. “What do you mean?”
“Your parents could have called you Petunia or Daisy.”
“Or Scooby Doo,” Isaac added. “Want a Scooby snack?”
What’s a Scooby? Hope giggled in spite of herself at his animated speech— “Yeeow!” She grabbed his hand to stop the pain.
“Sorry. Need to remove the hair imbedded in the wound.”
She let go and gritted her teeth while Isaac finished hollowing out a trench in her skull. “You didn’t answer the initial question.”
Sabio flashed the beam at her face. “Your name is significant because we hope your head injury is minor. And we hope your circumstances are resolved soon.”
The sooner the better. When the light clicked off, she rolled back over.
Isaac’s finger full of ointment greeted her. “Do you believe in it?”
Watching him dab at the cuts on her arms, she bit her lip. “Believe what?”
“In hope.”
What was this guy? A human lie detector?
Leave me alone. She twisted the sheet again, eyeing the window. “I don’t know.”
Isaac screwed the lid on the ointment tube. “It’s cool. We’ll have hope for you.” He packed up the white box.
The boys shut—and locked—the bunkroom door on their way out.
A chance to escape. Sitting up, she reached for the short and shirt combo.
Time paused … and the silhouette of a man invaded her mind as it had before she passed out. Dread lingered in its wake.
Hope reassessed her options.
Chapter 8
How long does it take a girl to dress? If Isaac didn’t hear any noises from the bedroom in the next five minutes, he’d go check on Hope. Mostly for the sake of his stomach. His mother had taught him to wait for all guests to be seated before digging into a meal, protocol he hadn’t expected to follow on vacation.
Sabio and Akiko were seated already but neither had taken a bite. They whispered as if at the library. The subduing effects of an unexpected female.
“Etiquette Academy to the max,” Jase whispered at them. “The winner is dismissed from cleaning on our last day.”
Their mothers had invented Etiquette Academy—a joint effort to balance the mischief by instilling proper manners. Over the past decade, politeness had become a sincere habit, for which Isaac was thankful, despite the scowl he gave his friend for suggesting the idea.
Why not. “To the max. Make it happen.” Isaac pumped up his chest and parked behind a chair at the table. His friends followed his example. Only thing missing were tuxedos.
Hearing the bunkroom door open, he clasped his hands at his back and faced their guest. He beckoned her out of the hallway, pleased with her slack-jaw expression.
Hair semi-combed. No lipstick. The borrowed top fit her like a baggy frock, and she had to hike up the shorts twice before they stayed in place. No visible curves or red lips to spike anyone’s hormones.
Edging into the kitchen, she dropped her gaze onto the green floor and danced it across the living room’s caramel-candy carpeting. Rolling up to the jungle-patterned sofa, her visual safari swung a hard right and soared over the coffee table toward the bookshelf.
Isaac re-evaluated the bungalow’s boring interior to see what made Hope’s expression ooh and ahh as though touring an art museum. Her mind’s not with it yet. Had to be the bump on her head. He’d monitor her closely the rest of the day.
Jase tapped her assigned seat. “For you.”
Lowering into the chair, Hope hesitated as if Jase might zip it out from under her.
Forget the bump. She’s just strange. Once she scooted forward, Isaac plopped down and remembered to place the napkin on his lap. Determined to win the Etiquette Academy prize, he bowed his head. “Thanks for the food. Amen.” He pushed the middle platter toward their guest. “Dig in. It’s not Better Burger’s, but it prevents starvation.”
Her hands stayed on her lap. “What’s Better Burger’s?”
Seated on her other side, Akiko slammed her plate with papaya, cheese, and a piece of pita.
Isaac frowned at the Asian for his witchy manners. “The fast food restaurant, Hope.” Known worldwide.
“Never heard of it.” Her voice quaked. “But I suppose fruit is about as fast as food gets.” She toyed with her napkin. “Please brief me on your identities.”
Definitely eccentric. He stacked the pineapple slices on the edge of his plate so they wouldn’t marinate the pita bread.
Jase flashed his golden smile, one that could win over anyone with a weakness for boyish charm. “We’ve been known as the Fearsome Foursome since kindergarten. Isaac’s the brat. Sabio’s the valedictorian. Kiko’s the goody-goody.”
Sabio ripped his pita in half. “The ex-goody-goody.”
“Ex?” Isaac eyed Akiko. “So, pigs do fly?” Scribbling a mental memo to pry into the matter later, he refocused on loosening Hope up. He pointed a fork at Jase. “You’re sitting beside an amazing composer. The next Andres Segovia.”
She peeled open a cheese stick wrapper and arched a calligraphic eyebrow at the grinning musician. “Do you play only classical music?” She sniffed the mozzarella up and down.
Another odd behavior. Isaac started a list. And he marked the girl as the first ever to show zero attraction to Jase’s boyish charm.
“I like any music.” Jase pumped the air with his fist. “But rock-n-roll rules!”
Sabio grunted. “Hardly.”
Isaac aimed a thumb at the scholar. “Sabio’s into rap. Dude, show her your hip-hop.”
Hope wished she could put a stop to the boys’ diagnostic stares. Then again, she was analyzing them, too.
The alpha dog urged Sabio. “Dude, it’s hammer time. Show her your hip hop.”
His what? She stopped gnawing the cheese.
The sphinx rose and chanted rhythmically. “You can’t touch this …” He jumped and glided around the kitchen with jerky, synchronized movements.
Covering her mouth, Hope veiled her laughter until he finished. “Is this type of dancing part of your occupation?”
A deluge of laughter made her regret asking.
Across the table, Isaac split open a banana. “Sabio Quinn earned a full-ride scholarship to Co
rnell for computer science. Tutors Latin on the side.”
Ivy League. Impressive. She finished eating the peculiar cheese thing.
“Sabio suffers one weakness.” Jase cupped a hand around his mouth, inviting her to listen. “His brain malfunctions when he’s distracted by his novia.”
“Stacyyyy!” Jase and Akiko whooped. “He flunked a test for the first time because of her …” Their bantering traveled the table.
A girlfriend? How was this flunking humorous? Sabio’s apparent handicap eluded her understanding. She shifted her attention to Isaac’s sprawling, blonde tangles. A fascinating production. She considered skirting the table to manipulate it. “Does your hair permanently stick out like a lion’s mane, or is it bed head?”
Jase, whose shorter, spiked hair looked artificial in comparison, ruffled Isaac’s mane and got his hand smacked. “The safetyman wants to be a doctor. But he should run for president. He’s a factory for original ideas.” The musician held the near-empty fruit platter in front of Hope. “Watch out, or he’ll get you into trouble, too.”
“Warning received.” Her stomached begged for the remaining banana, but she hesitated. When did she last eat?
Akiko took and passed the platter on around before she could snatch the fruit. “Isaac used to get us into so much trouble that our parents made a pact to discipline us as needed. Whenever. Wherever.”
She gave the safetyman an A for his stealth after he scraped Jase’s pineapple slice onto his own plate.
“Oh, man!” Jase’s eruption startled her. “Remember when he talked Sabio into secretly borrowing his parents’ car?”
Isaac halved the pineapple slice. “The Law of Motion science experiment. The car accidentally rolled down the driveway and over the neighbor’s mailbox. A minor miscalculation.” He popped the fruit into his mouth.
“Minor?” Akiko threw his crumpled napkin at Isaac. “Professor Quinn butt-whacked us with his infamous—not minor—paddle.”
Jase shivered. “Stank, that thing used to bite.”
She needed to see this biting, whack gadget. Dare she ask? “Why follow Isaac into trouble?”
Tipping his chair back, the Cornell sphinx laced his fingers behind his head. “Isaac’s ideas were radical, but most were beneficial. Like the time he finagled us into a semi-pro golf tournament as caddies. In one day, he made us each a hundred bucks, hard cash. That’s gold-in-the-pocket for an eleven year old.”
Ohioans trusted their children to carry around gold? Astounding. Hope wished to hear all their boyhood memories.
Desperate to keep abreast of the goings-on inside the bungalow, Lord Vétis crept around the edge of the deck. Aware of Riki’s hatred for men, he might be barging in on a torture scene.
Instead of screams and moans, juvenile bursts of laughter streamed through the screen door. How could this be?
He stuffed himself beneath the wooden planks where he could better hear. Riki’s association with these hedonists disgraced her tutelage and tampered with Lux success. The situation bore into Vétis’s nerves its potential for sabotage. Tonight, he would send for transportation via psychical communication.
I must bridle Riki Hammad. He lifted the scarab beetle and invoked the Forces of the Air.
Memories surfaced of the sparse delivery room and the day the prototype was born. May 30, 1971. He had convinced the deserted teenage mother that preventing a stillbirth demanded special medical assistance, which he’d prearranged. Grand Master Rakshasa offered a sacrifice post-delivery and named the chosen child Riki Hammad—ruler, highly praised.
From the Lux’s new headquarters in the Caribbean, Vétis had circulated news of the omened birth. He posted key members—government agents, military officers, lawyers, scientists—in strategic positions around the world, setting up an infrastructure from which Riki would someday purge the nations. He labeled it Phase I.
His demanding curriculum had honed Riki’s intelligence to perfection. Knowing only what he designed for her to learn, she was now ready to advance to Phase II. Enlightenment.
Resting his head against a wooden post, Vétis eavesdropped with every gram of energy. Death to any licentious mongrel that violates her. He eased his anger with a reminder of the approaching inception of Phase II.
Reminiscing the Foursome’s mischievous years helped lift Akiko out of his funkiness, which made Hope’s presence less stressful. Seated next to Dr. Caedis’s patient, Akiko seesawed between labeling her a psychotic phony or simply anxious. She was an incredible mystery. She talked funny. Acted funny.
That’s it. She was acting. He fingered the pendant through his shirtfront.
She turned to him. “What about you?”
“I act.”
“Like Humpty Bogart?”
“It’s Humphrey Bogart.” Akiko snorted. “That dude’s extinct.”
He’d forgotten to ask the doctor why Hope needed medication. Depression? Schizophrenia? Dementia? Panic disorder? How sick was she? What should he do if she had an attack?
“You guys must be religious,” she said.
Says whom? He had missed a shift in topic while his mind ran amok over possible disorders.
Isaac tossed his cheese wrapper onto his empty plate. “God is important.”
Give me a break. Akiko had discarded the archaic faith stuff after realizing that religion had no scientific basis. He would no longer give in to holy brainwashing.
Isaac kept one ear tuned in to the stories about their former youth group days while he searched for something likeable about Hope. So far, he’d detected only a thicker-than-lard darkness. It slimed him. His logic tried to deny the impression, but his body couldn’t shake the weirdness.
“Preachers, pastors.” Hope displayed little emotion, for a girl. “You guys must be religious.”
Strangely chilled by the breeze flowing through the screen, he rubbed down the hair rising on his neck. “God’s important.”
“Only if you believe one exists.” She crumpled her napkin.
Resisting her mystic slime, he pulled his feet under his chair and looked to the professor’s son to speak up.
Sabio gave him a nod. “Everybody has faith in something.”
Skepticism smeared Hope’s expression. “Faith is whimsical confidence. Unscientific.” Her vocabulary proved her educated.
Sabio folded his arms on the table. “Under a different definition, faith makes the relationship work.”
She eyed them all as if they were loony. “Are you implying you have a relationship with a god?”
That did sound strange. Isaac shrugged. “Ever been to church? Read the Bible?”
“Churches, temples, shrines. All universal concepts.” She shook her head. “But explain the Bible.”
No way. Her ignorance was too farfetched. Isaac hated being toyed with, and he gritted his teeth against swelling resentment.
Sabio nudged him under the table. “The Bible is God’s message to the world in book form to help us live rightly.” Leave it to the scholar to mind his manners in the face of teasing.
“Does reading this Bible define your relationship with a god?”
“They’re related.” Sabio said.
Isaac’s chest tingled. Was Hope’s darkness the culprit?
“So …” Her cynical gaze bounced around the table. “You guys personally claim this religious connection?”
Maybe she’s serious. Isaac traded a knowing glance with Sabio. Last night, they’d discussed whether God was relevant to their lives.
“Religious people search for a divine connection.” Sabio elucidated as effectively as his father. “Our faith is based on God searching us out. He makes it relational.”
Personal relevance yet to be determined. Giving his friend a supportive nod, Isaac wanted to sort out the details after hours. Hope’s curiosity compelled him to establish his own convictions.
A throbbing overload of stimuli discouraged Hope from seeking further details. She’d thought Ivy Leaguers were smart, but S
abio’s absurd statement about God searching people out annoyed her, and his Bible belonged in Homer’s literature collection.
Faith made no sense. He probably believed he could tour the river Styx and view Hades, too. How silly to believe in a relationship with a supernatural being.
Cars. Malls. Concerts. She failed to connect intellectually with half the stuff the boys referred to so naturally. All four were products of private schooling, talented, smart, and from a place called Ohio that held minimal recognition in her mind. She felt like a clay blob dropped into a museum of perfect marble sculptures.
I’m absolutely not sleeping here tonight.
Time paused … her mind’s eye entered a dark room. Glowing candles … Voices chanting … Her legs and arms, restrained. Trapped …
The touch of a human hand jolted her from her trance.
“Earth to Hope.” Jase shook her wrist.
She pulled away from him and rubbed her burning skin. “I’m good.”
“You’re flushed.” Isaac’s fingers prowled near the food platter and the last banana.
“I just need fresh air.” She snatched the fruit, hastened onto the deck, and closed the glass door.
Ohio Martians. Hand shaking, Hope slashed her thumbnail through the banana peel.
Scraping noises under the deck sent her jumping. She scrambled onto the railing, squishing the fruit. Bedding down in the bungalow just resurfaced as an option.
Chapter 9
The laughter inside the bungalow ceased. Lord Vétis, straining to hear the hushed conversation, prayed. “Disturbing forces, work for me. Close Riki’s ears to fallacy.”
The screen door opened and out walked the chosen one, as commanded. She mounted the railing. Was her huffy breathing the sign of the dissatisfaction he craved? Had her fearless nature intimidated the mongrels?
During Phase II, Vétis would tailor her intrepid spirit to enhance her Combat Sambo training. Then Lux internationals—likeminded associates with equal passion for global transformation—would exalt Rakshasa’s elite prototype.
