Brighter Day was pretty lax, and we had a computer lab, even if there were so many security settings that you were lucky to play solitaire. Late at night Zach would hack through the firewall so he could feed his addiction. I caught him once. I was fuzzy-headed and overmedicated, but I couldn’t sleep. I found him in the lab, and he startled when he saw me.
“Jesus, Amelie. How about a little fucking privacy?” he gasped out, face red as he cleared the screen he’d been looking at.
“Teach me how to do that.”
He ran his fingers through his brown hair. I had a bit of a crush on him, and I loved the way his hair stuck out all over the place. I like to think that he would’ve liked me that way too, if I’d been a little older. “Do what?”
“Break through the security system. I want to know how to go where I want.”
He studied me for a second, and then nodded. “Okay. But it’s not easy.”
In two weeks I was better than him, and logging on to hacking sites to expand my skills.
Now my illegal hobby comes in handy. I couldn’t hack into the CIA or anything like that, but local government websites are easy pickings. Firewalls set up to keep out nosy citizens fall to me, and my laptop becomes a portal to the world of human misery and those who delight in it.
Which is why it makes me so angry that I can’t find Dr. Goodhart. The last hit I got on him was a month ago, when a prominent hospital released a news clipping about opening a new ward for mental disorders. I could’ve sworn that the man in the grainy picture was Dr. Goodhart, but now I’m not so sure. It was enough to bring me back to Pennsylvania, though.
Eventually he’ll turn up. Either They’ll find him, or I will. And when we do, I will ruin his life like he ruined mine.
After a quick Internet search I find a few follow-up articles on Medina that were printed after the one that was stuffed into my locker. Then I check the county records where he was arrested. The police still have an open investigation against him. So why haven’t they charged Medina? Is it because his victims don’t matter? Medina spent his time carving up women who sold their bodies to survive. When he didn’t kill them, he left them scarred for life.
A few more articles, and I have the whole story. Seems the local cops didn’t do such a hot job processing the evidence, which is how Medina got off on a technicality. I’ll do what the police haven’t and make him pay for his crimes.
I find Medina quickly. He now works for a long-haul trucking outfit. His name hasn’t changed, and I pull up his driver’s license to compare the picture to his mug shot. It’s the same guy.
I click through a few more screens and find that the company he works for hauls packaged meat to grocery stores and animals to slaughter. I can’t help but grin at the irony.
I search through the drivers’ logs, handily stored on the website. Skimming through the details, I find that the trucks have embedded tracking devices that update every twenty minutes. No one wants to lose a truckload of filets mignons. I find the location of Medina’s truck, and when I put the lat/long into my browser, I get a real-time picture of a nearby truck stop.
A smile creeps across my face, and I feel almost giddy. It’s our lucky night.
The Speedy Stop Travel Plaza is lit up like a summer day when I pull in and park at the edge of the lot. The place is twice the size of West County High, the paved lot giving way to a dirt parking area for the tractor-trailers that make their lumbering way in from the interstate. Dirty slush over the hard-packed earth creates an icy hazard for truck drivers who come in for the “Cheap Showers” and “$4.99 Steak and Eggs Special.” Carloads of weary travelers stop in every few minutes to fuel up and grab Styrofoam cups of coffee that they sip with grimaces. I watch for a few minutes before getting out of my car and slinking between the trucks, looking for the shamrock logo of Kirkpatrick Trucking.
After making a circuit up and down the rows, I find that of the fifty or so trucks present, there are three Kirkpatrick trucks. I mentally curse myself for not thinking to write down Medina’s plates. I’m about to knock on one of the doors, when someone lets out a low chuckle.
“Well, honey, I gotta say I ain’t never seen someone so fine trolling the lots before.” I turn around, every muscle in my body tensed for action. A hyper-skinny man with jeans and a work jacket stares at me, his eyes lingering rudely on my chest. He’s a weasel of a man, and the gleam in his eyes unsettles me. He spits a long stream of tobacco juice onto the icy slush of the lot, barely missing my hiking boots. “So how much you charging? Going rate for the girls here is seventy-five, but I figure a sweet piece like you is probably worth an even hundred.” He adjusts his pants in a way that makes it clear he doesn’t think I’m selling cookies.
I take a steadying breath and try to give him an indulgent smile. “Actually, I’m already spoken for this evening. I’m looking for Alex. He and I have an . . . arrangement. I’m not sure you can top what he’s offering.” I toss my hair over my shoulder, and the man lets loose with a low whistle.
“So, you’re the reason he always stops in this shit hole. Well, tell you what. It’s your lucky night. I ain’t gonna take up too much of your time, and I’ll still give you your full fee. How’s that sound?”
“Sorry. I make it a rule never to engage in business with men I don’t know.” The excuse sounds lame even to my ears, especially since he thinks I’m a prostitute, but alarm has risen in my chest and slowed my brain. Trucks idle loudly around us, and we’re far enough away that no one will hear me scream or call for help. Not that I would. Still, I’m not here for this scrawny waste of protein. Even if he is something you’d find on the bottom of your shoe, I want to give him a chance to carry on with his pathetic existence.
He takes another step and begins undoing his belt. It’s somewhere around twenty degrees out, but the man has a one-track mind. “Honey, my name’s Chuck, and you can fill in the rest. Now we’re friends. Let’s do this.”
Rage, hot and sharp, surges through me. I snap. I let loose my control on Them, and my vision splits into three.
Before I can think about what I’m doing, our fist whips out and catches Chuck under the chin. His head snaps back, a gurgling sound emanating from his throat. He hasn’t even responded to the blow before we give him a roundhouse kick to the middle. Blood and tobacco juice explode all over my shoe, and a tooth lands on the dirty snow. I look down and distantly realize that the shoe is ruined. I’m horrified, but from a distance I can hear myself laughing.
I’ve completely lost control.
A hot wind whips around me, melting the snow and revealing the gravel lot beneath. We walk forward to finish off the disgusting specimen of humanity, and it’s all I can do to stop Them from killing Chuck just for the fun of it. I have to convince Them that it’s Medina we need to find.
Their urgings to violence tangle around my thoughts. They want me to hurt Chuck. It would be so easy for us to break his neck, to hear the sweetly satisfying grind and crunch of vertebrae giving way.
I try to shake off Their influence and maintain my sanity. “No, we’re here for Medina. He’s the one we want.”
But think of the fun . . . a girlish giggle before wings beat the air and resettle.
The soft susurrus of scales sliding. Really, it would take only a second.
Panic swamps me, but I push it back and remain firm. Chains rattle as I cross my arms. “No. We have to find Medina. For all we know he could be leaving soon. Then what will we do? Wait for him to pass back through? We must hand down justice.”
They reluctantly leave the unconscious man and follow me through the rows of trucks. I swallow my relief and focus on our task.
“This way. It has to be one of these.”
We make our way to the other Kirkpatrick Trucking rigs I noticed earlier. At the first a woman sings country music off-key, and we veer away just in time to see the female driver roll down the window and light a cigarette.
That leaves only one other Kirkpatrick Trucking ri
g. We make our way between the tractor-trailers, sticking to the shadows as much as possible. Outside Medina’s truck we press ourselves to the cold metal of the driver’s door, trying the handle first. It’s locked, and I’m just about to break the window when we hear a woman’s sob.
“Please. Dear God, no. I have kids.”
Anger surges through us, and we throw caution to the wind. Tisiphone digs her taloned hands into the door of the cab and rips it off. There’s movement inside as she tosses the door away like a gum wrapper. A short man with dark hair and beady eyes is silhouetted momentarily, a bloody knife in his hand, before he scrambles out the passenger door. I want to check on the woman pleading for help, but They are already pursuing Medina across the parking lot, dragging me along between Them.
Medina runs like a jackrabbit, surprisingly fast for his size. My arms pump as we follow him, dodging in between the slumbering giants. Tisiphone flies ahead of Megaera and me, her wings beating the air heavily. I round a corner and skid to a stop, listening for Medina. Someone pants behind me. As I spin around, he slashes downward, carving through my left shoulder and just barely missing my heart.
Pain blinds me, and I go down with a grunt. They howl in anger, the animalistic sound echoing eerily in the cold night. A scorching wind blows across the lot, and before I can move, They are on Medina.
He doesn’t even have time to scream before They bombard him with punishing blows. If I don’t interfere, They will burn away his soul, leaving nothing for his Maker to judge. I stumble toward the man lying on the ground, and my sword appears just in time to end his life before They do. But pain makes me clumsy. I trip and sprawl across the gravel parking lot, and the sword clatters away before disappearing.
There is a brief moment of silence, and then I hear it. A rushing sound fills my ears, the hot wind of some hell whipping across the lot. I raise my head and watch as Medina claws at his face. Blue flames explode from his eyes and mouth, momentarily illuminating his pain-stretched features before exploding through the pores of his body. For one glorious second he is a fiery blue beacon, and the music of long-dead gods triumphantly fills the night air. But the light quickly fades, and Medina falls to the ground, the thin layer of soot on his skin the only sign of the cause of his death.
They have burned away the man’s sin-stained soul.
I swallow past the lump in my throat. There is no justice for Alex Medina, only oblivion.
I climb to my feet and stumble away, back toward the lights of the gas station. There are no trucks in this part of the lot, only a bare gravel expanse. I’ve made it only a few steps before I fall to my knees and retch, my body spasming until my stomach is completely empty. Once again I’m painfully reminded that They have a very different idea of justice.
Alekto explained it to me once. Every soul deserves to receive its judgment. My sisters take away any chance for redemption when They burn the soul of the guilty away. Instead there is nothing, only oblivion. It is the absolute worst kind of punishment, and the suffering They inflict makes Them stronger.
Failure weighs heavily on my shoulders, and I raise my head. They stand before me, and it’s a rare chance for me to glimpse Them fully. Usually I have only an impression of Their forms, snatches of wings and scales from the corners of my eyes as We hand down our justice. My weakness has given Them free rein, and I take this opportunity to study Them.
Tisiphone stands to my left, the wings on her back held close to her body. In the dim light I can faintly make out the talons that take the place of human hands. Her wings are breathtaking, the feathers with the same brown mottling as a hawk’s. She stretches them with a grin when she catches me staring at her. Her wingspan is easily ten or twelve feet, and the wings block what little light filters to our corner of the lot from the gas station area. Her face is china-doll fine, the features delicate and perfect, but her eyes are wild, the madness clear even in the dim lighting of the parking lot.
You are injured. Megaera’s lips don’t move, but her voice echoes in my head. I look down at my shoulder. Blood courses down my arm, soaking my black sweater and dripping off my fingers onto the gravel parking lot. I nod, and the world tilts sideways. It’s only when my face crashes into the icy gravel that I realize I fell over.
Well, at least I missed the puddle of puke.
From the ground I look up at the serpent woman. Her hair is made of snakes, and her entire body is covered in scales. She isn’t pretty like the winged one, and her mouth has a cruel cast that fills me with fear, even more than the fact that I’m dying. She clutches my shoulder, and my scream of pain trails off into a whimper.
Death is not your fate. You are our servant.
Heat suffuses my body, centering on my shoulder and radiating out. It’s not a pleasant warmth but a searing like being tossed into a vat of boiling oil. I moan, but my throat closes off and no sound escapes. I wonder if They are burning away the blackness in my soul as well, and if I’ll have anything left. Just when I’m certain I can’t take any more, the heat subsides and I return to my senses. The Furies are gone, and I sense Them settling back into the corner of my mind They call Their own. I roll onto my back and look up at the sky, a ragged sob tearing from my chest.
I don’t know how much longer I can do this.
After what feels like an eternity, I climb to my feet and stagger back to my car. Nearly dying has taken a lot out of me, and my legs feel like overcooked spaghetti. A couple whispering to each other pause and look in my direction, but quickly dismiss me. I’m pretty sure I look like hell, but luckily not bad enough to attract the attention of the truck stop denizens.
Without another thought I get into my car and drive away.
WOOZY
I’m about ten minutes from home when I drive off the road. The rumble strips on the highway wake me with a thrumming noise, my car vibrating alarmingly. I straighten the wheel in time to avoid driving into the ditch alongside the road, and slam to a stop.
Not good.
My head pounds, and I rest it against the steering wheel. I’m light-headed and tired and parched. It must be the blood loss from Medina’s attack. This happened after I got shot in Charleston, so I know that what I need right now is sugar. Lots of sugar.
I slowly guide my car back onto the road and take the first exit. I’m still in West County, but it’s a part I’ve never been to before. The houses look newer, and there’s a brightly lit shopping center that boasts a twenty-four-hour drugstore.
I stumble out of the car, catching myself on the door to avoid face-planting into the pavement. Once the dizzy spell passes, I head into the drugstore, making a beeline to the soda coolers at the back. I grab a twenty-ounce bottle of something dark and bubbly, open it, and drink half. I’m just finishing it when I hear a shout behind me.
“Hey!”
“I’m going to pay for it,” I snap, reaching for another one. Already the high-fructose corn syrup in my belly is making me feel better. Hooray for science.
“Isn’t it a little late for you to be out and about?” I turn around and almost drop the fresh soda in my hand. I sag against the door to the cooler. At the end of the aisle, wearing a red smock and looking as goofy as hell, is Niko.
I’m exhausted, but he looks wonderful. It takes me a moment too long to answer him, and another moment to remember Kevin Eames. It’s hard to think about avoiding Niko when he’s looking at me like he’s been waiting all night to see me.
“Hey,” I croak. He pushes off the chip display and saunters toward me, his hands stuck in his pockets.
“What are you doing out at this time of night?”
I smile, because my sluggish brain is having trouble coming up with an excuse. When I got into the car to find Medina, it was after one in the morning. I’m guessing it’s somewhere after two or three now. It’s easy to lose track of time with Them. “Yeah, my mom’s sick. She sent me to get some cough syrup.”
Niko nods, and pushes his dark curls out of his face. “Oh. Okay.” He se
ems disappointed, and I wonder if he thought I was here to see him. After the scene in the lunchroom, it might make sense. Anyone watching would’ve been able to see the sparks between us. Is he as happy to see me as I am to see him?
The thought warms me before I throw a mental bucket of ice water onto the feeling. Why would he be looking for me? Despite the moment in the cafeteria, we’ve barely spoken. Obviously he’s just happy to see a familiar face.
I clear my throat and nod. “Yeah. Um, do you work here?” My brain is already slow, and the fact that he seems as excited to see me as I am to see him throws my thoughts into further chaos. Does he like me? Is there any way I can ask him without sounding desperate?
Probably not.
I need to quit watching so much television. It’s rotting my brain. There’s no way that Niko is interested in me. It’s just wishful thinking. Even if he is interested . . . well, I can’t exactly return his feelings. It’s wrong. I’m too dangerous.
I can’t forget that I’m not just a girl, even though I enjoy playing the part. I’m a monster. My brain shies away from the mental image of Alex Medina’s final moments. They weren’t exactly kind.
I tear my thoughts away from my inner struggles to what Niko is saying. “. . . so I work here a couple of nights a week. I have insomnia, and I don’t like the drugs because they make me a little crazy. Working helps.” He pushes his hand through his hair and gives a little nervous laugh that makes my stomach flip-flop. “I’m not sure why I told you that.”
“Because we’re friends.” I give him what I hope is a reassuring smile.
He grins. “Friends, huh? You want to hang out for a while?”
“Sure.” I wonder if I’m making a mistake, answering so quickly. But right now I’m on my own. They’re silent, and I probably wouldn’t like what They had to say, anyway.
Even though I know better, I follow Niko to the front of the store, grabbing a package of chocolate frosted doughnuts off a display near the register. Niko sits behind the counter and waves away my attempt to pay. “You’re a guest in my kingdom.” I lean against the other side of the counter and drink my second soda, trying not to grin like a love-struck idiot.
Vengeance Bound Page 11
