by H. D. Gordon
Another rough slap across the face had me snapping my mouth shut in a hurry, a growl tearing up my throat. I raged against the chains. I should’ve known better than to engage a madman.
“Since you showed up in Grant City, you’ve brought nothing but death and destruction,” he snapped. “I’m giving you a dose of your own medicine. The only difference between you and me is that I’m not pretending to be a hero while I do it.” This was spoken with such hatred, such abhorrence that each word practically dripped with acid.
I glared at him and yanked on my chains again to no avail, achieving nothing but a metallic rattle and a frustrated rumbling sound in my chest.
“You deny it?” he asked. “That Blue Beast attacking Grant City, you claim that had nothing to do with you?”
I opened my mouth to tell him he was damn right it didn’t have anything to do with me, but the words dried up somewhere in my throat. Was it entirely true to say that the Blue Beast would’ve attacked Grant City had the Masked Maiden never existed?
I wasn’t so sure, now that I thought about it. There was so much going on in this twisted town, so much I still didn’t know. My lips pressed together and I continued to glare. There was little else I could do. On a good day, I would have broken out of these bonds easily, but on this day I’d been struck by lightning and fell three stories down to hard concrete. My body was just too weak, my light steadily dimming.
Leonard Boyce gave a humorless laugh. “That’s what I thought. I don’t know what you are, or why you’re here, but I do know that if it weren’t for you, people who are dead right now would still be alive. I do know that you’re not innocent. You’re not a hero. You’re a fraud, a freak.”
I held my peace, kept my face blank of emotion, though I suspected his words would come back to haunt me.
If I lived long enough for them to haunt me, anyway.
“How are you controlling the lightning?” I asked, deciding that if he was determined to have a conversation, I may as well learn a thing or two, even if speaking was taking serious effort.
“Why would I tell you that? There are still five days of darkness to go, and the fun has only just started. We wouldn’t want to end the games early, would we?”
“People are getting hurt,” I said. “That’s your idea of a game? You’re a sick bastard.”
This time I was not surprised when his hard palm met my face, and despite my lack of reaction, it hurt like the devil. I spat another wad of blood on the floor between our feet and some of it dribbled down my chin.
“That’s three,” I told him, gritting out the words.
He brought his face close to mine, close enough to smell the garlic on his breath and the heat of his aura. “Oh, good. You’re keeping count.” He straightened, ran a hand down his chin. “I’ve been keeping count, too. Do you want to know how many people have died as a direct result of your actions for the past six months? Do you think you can handle a dose of the truth?”
“I’ve never killed anyone,” I said, my voice tight.
For this, I received a punch to the gut that was not pulled on his part in the least. In fact, he threw his whole body into it, his fist slamming into my midsection like a rock, knocking the air out of me in a gasp.
I coughed, sputtered, tried to catch my breath. “Four,” I mumbled, referring to the number of punches I owed him should there be a next time we met.
“Wrong,” he said. “Forty-six. Forty-six is the correct answer. That’s how many deaths the Maiden is directly responsible for.”
I sucked my teeth despite the blurred state of my vision, the inner teenager in me rearing her head. “You’re crazy,” I said.
He nodded. “Maybe,” he said. “But that doesn’t mean I’m wrong. I’ve been keeping track, see? I’ve got a list of names—names of good people, and they’re all dead because of you.”
“You’re lying,” I managed. I could feel myself slipping over the edge of some cliff, an undeniable beckoning from the darkness.
He clicked his tongue, leaned in close once more, his face a blur of angry aura. “I almost feel bad for you.” He laughed. “You really don’t know how much damage you’ve done.” He clapped his hands, making my eyes flutter back open. I was slipping.
Slipping…
“Well, no matter,” he told me. “I’m going to educate you, but pay attention Masked Maiden, because your friends will likely find you soon, and we’ve got a lot to go over.”
The darkness beckoned, but I was torn back into the present when someone grabbed a handful of my hair from behind, forcing me to lift my drooping head. At the same time someone before me splashed freezing cold water—complete with hard chunks of ice cubes—directly in my face.
I sputtered, coughed, shivered, and heard my traitorous throat issue a hoarse cry.
“I’ve got something for you,” he told me, and inky darkness floated out of his fingertips and began to snake toward me. He touched those fingers to my forehead, and I heard myself scream as the inky shadows seeped in through the front of my skull.
Then, the real fun began.
***
Aria? Aria? Can you hear me?
It was Thomas’s voice. Even from this distance, this faraway dark place, I knew it. I would know his voice in a crowd of a thousand, would recognize it across the realms. I tried to respond but was unable, as though all I could do was scream in my head, the sound going no further than the edges of my mind.
I’ve got you, Thomas’s phantom voice told me. Aria, I’ve got you.
Then, I was floating, as if resting atop a fluffy cloud lazing across a blue summer sky. I tried to hang on to the sound of his voice, the comfort his words gave me.
I was lost for a time, but when I surfaced again, it was pain that registered. Whereas moments ago I’d been unaware of my physical body, my consciousness drifting only to depart once more, now I was hyperaware of my body. I was hurting in places I hadn’t been aware were capable of agony.
I heard a deep groan, the sound more injured-animal than anything human, and realized as I blinked my eyes open that it had likely come from me. I had to blink several more times before my vision cleared enough for me to take in my surroundings, and a jolt of panic ran through me as I realized that I had no idea where I was.
I shifted on the bed I’d been laid out on, my muscles painfully slow to respond, and tried to stand.
The door to the room I was in opened, and Dr. Rosemary Reid entered. She had her pretty blond hair piled in a bun atop her head, her clothes no longer scrubs but plain jeans and t-shirts, as if this were her day off.
“You’re awake,” Rosemary said, and hurried over to the bed to place a gentle hand on my shoulder and keep me in place. “Don’t get up. You were hurt pretty bad.”
I didn’t protest. With every moment that passed, the memories of the night came flooding back to me.
Those faces. All those faces. All those innocent people.
“Aria?” Rosemary said, waving a hand in front of my face. “I asked how you were feeling?”
Like crawling into a hole and staying there.
I cleared my throat. “Weak, but okay, I guess.”
Rosemary nodded. “Can you tell me what happened?”
Faces, names, lives lost…
…Can you honestly tell me these things would’ve happened if the Masked Maiden had never come to town?
“I…uh… I was struck by lightning, and I fell, like, thirty feet, took a few hits to the head and gut,” I said.
But to the heart, really. Mostly to the heart.
“You were struck by lightning?” Rosemary repeated.
I nodded. “And afterward I blacked out.”
Rosemary let out a huff of air that was part surprise, part disbelief. “You’re lucky you’re not dead. You must have one hell of a strong heart. Advantage of being a Halfling, I’m guessing?”
I shrugged. “I guess so.”
Rosemary sighed, brushed some of the hair that had escaped the bun
out of her face. She pulled a little light-pen from her shirt pocket and flashed it in my eyes, probed at my neck and stomach, making me fight back a wince. Then she checked the almost healed gunshot wound I’d sustained a few days ago.
“Well, you broke three ribs, obtained a mild concussion, dehydrated your body to a dangerous point, and three times since you arrived here your heartbeat slipped into atrial fibrillation.” She sighed and shook her head. “All in all, though, I’d say you were pretty lucky… By the look on your face, I’m guessing this doesn’t make much of a difference?”
Difference… The only difference between you and me is I’m not pretending to be a hero while I do it.
Before I could form a response, the door to the room opened again, and a crowd consisting of Sam, Thomas, Matt, and Raven piled inside. I bit back the grimace that fought to claim my face. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to see them, but I felt uncomfortably fragile at the moment, like an egg that has cracked beyond the point of repair—something about to shatter.
Luckily, I’d grown used to hiding my emotions, the invisible mask I always wore slipping into place, concealing the depression that was threatening to suck me into its black hole for a good spell.
This time, more than ever before, I wondered if I would be able to claw my way back out.
CHAPTER 15
Day three.
It was only day three, and yet, it seemed the darkness afflicting Grant City had lasted an eternity. Or perhaps that was just my state of mind, but either way, things were snowballing. With the power out, the Bay Bar where I worked was closed, along with most of the other businesses in the city. My classes at Grant City Community College wouldn’t begin for another couple weeks, so that left me with nothing to do.
So what was I doing? I was laying on my foldout bed in my crappy studio apartment, allowing myself the ‘much-needed rest’ that Dr. Reid had insisted upon. Not so much because I was concerned about my health, but because I couldn’t make myself get up. As much as it hurt, I only wanted to lie here and stew in my self-pity and loathing.
What can I say? Depression is a powerful demon, and it can ride one’s soul in its possession.
It was the faces that haunted me, kept returning when I closed my eyes—every time I blinked. How could I have been so naïve? Had I really thought I’d been helping people? Making Grant city safer?
Like a tornado, destroying everything you touch and not bothering to look through the rubble you leave behind you.
The bastard may be crazy, but damn if he didn’t have a point and made it.
A knock sounded on my apartment door, pulling me away from these thoughts and making me groan with annoyance. I loved my friends, and of course, I knew they were just concerned about me, but sometimes a girl just wants to hurt in peace.
I tucked my head under my pillow, thinking that maybe if I just ignored it and pretended I wasn’t here the caller would go away.
When the knock came again… and again, and Thomas gently spoke my name through the door, I sighed and rolled off the bed, not bothering with pants before opening the door to him.
Without a word, I left the door open for him to enter and promptly flopped back down on the bed, pulling a pillow over my head. Thomas maintained the silence as he moved into my kitchen area and began unpacking a grocery bag he’d brought with him. I listened to the sound of him moving about over there without peering out from my pillow-cave, but thirty minutes later, when the smell of broiling steaks and potatoes began to permeate the small space, my traitorous tummy grumbled and I peeked my head out like a groundhog emerging from its hole to check for spring.
I saw that at some point he’d dragged a folding table in here, and had moved the two salvaged chairs I kept by my window to flank it. Atop the table he’d laid out two plates and sets of silverware. I considered pulling the pillow back over my head and ignoring these efforts because life sucked, but when my stomach grumbled again, I sighed and sat up.
“You can’t fix everything with food, you know?” I said, my voice harsher than I wanted and my tone whiny, because there was nothing I could do to stop it.
Thomas looked up from what he was doing, and shrugged. “Actually, this is all for me. I only brought it over so you could watch me eat it.” He gathered the plates from the table and placed a sizzling steak atop each.
My eyes narrowed, my feet swinging over the edge of the bed of their own will. I shuffled over to the table and sat down with a huff. Thomas raised an eyebrow at me and made a move to take my plate away, but stopped when I growled and snapped at his hand.
He didn’t smile, as if he knew that I couldn’t handle a smile, but his aura showed gold, nonetheless. He placed a baked potato beside my steak and scooped some Parmesan crusted asparagus beside that. Then we ate in silence, and yes, it was friggin’ delicious.
When we were finished, Thomas insisted that I go shower while he cleaned the dishes. I might’ve taken offense if not for the dried blood I could still smell in my hair from the night before, so I scooted into my bathroom and showered up, brushing my teeth while I was at it.
When I emerged from the bathroom I felt admittedly better, though no amount of soap in the world could cleanse the dirt that had shrouded my soul. Dramatic? Surely. Apt, nonetheless.
A towel was wrapped around me and my skin glistened while my hair hung in long, damp waves over my shoulders. When Thomas looked up at me from where he’d been sitting by the window, an old paperback novel spread open in his hands, something warm swirled in my stomach as I watched his aura.
What’s happening here, between us? Whispered a voice in my head, and that same voice responded: I’m pretty sure you’re falling in love.
I’m going to take from you the things you love most, came a different voice, that of the man who’d strung me up and filled my head with the ghosts that were currently haunting me.
These thoughts were swept away as if by a strong wind when Thomas Reid placed his book on the windowsill and took to his feet. His hazel eyes were focused in that intent manner that is so common to soldiers, the tunneling in of the vision on a single, urgent task.
He approached me slowly, covering the small space between us until there was none, pausing only as he reached me. His aura engulfed me as he did so, a beautiful kaleidoscope of color that surrounded me with warmth and compassion. With him so close, it was impossible to succumb to the sadness within. I could only let my eyes take in the sight of him, let my lungs take in the air. My mind, so full of torment, cleared and occupied itself with just Thomas.
He took me to the bed, and if only for the time being, set my world to rights again.
***
Sundown approached like a storm rolling in over the horizon, dragging the darkness along behind it. I stared out my window and watched it coming. My head rested atop Thomas’s strong chest, his heart beating a steady rhythm just beneath my ear. I knew from the sound of his breathing and the settled state of his aura that he was sleeping, and wanted nothing more than to join him in the slumber, but no matter how hard I tried, I could not.
I’d fallen asleep after we’d made love, but it had been short and fitful, a collage—no, a bombardment of images and visions that had jolted me awake. I’d been covered in sweat, my heart fluttering and body jittering. Now, I tried my best to lay still, to suffer silently so as not to awaken the wonderful man beside me.
It was funny how quickly the biggest of life’s changes happened upon a person. I wasn’t sure exactly when it had happened, and perhaps it was a combination of experiences, but I was not a child any longer. Maybe I hadn’t been for a long time.
“You should rest,” Thomas said, his deep voice soft in my ear.
I sighed, placed a small kiss on one of the scars that marred his chest. “That’s what everyone keeps saying,” I agreed.
We were quiet for a time, then Thomas said, “What happened in that warehouse where I found you, Aria?”
I considered my answer, and offered the truest I co
uld manage. “He said I needed to suffer. That he would make me suffer the way he has… and I guess what sucks is, he succeeded.”
“That why he left you alive?”
“Yes. I believe so. He knew someone would come find me…” I paused as something I’d forgotten about the encounter with Leonard Boyce came back to me. “He said he was counting on it.”
Thomas gave a single nod. “He’s welcome to come pay me a visit. Then I wouldn’t have to go find him.”
I lifted my head, meeting his hard hazel eyes. “You’re not going after this guy. None of this has anything to do with you.”
The hint of a smile played at the edge of his lips, and I knew Thomas found it endearing that I was trying to protect him. As trained and muscled as he was, I was sure it wasn’t often that this happened. Like me, he was a man who was used to running head-on at trouble.
“He made it about me when he hit you with lightning, hung you from a ceiling, and beat you,” he said, and there was something in his tone that I’d only heard him use once before, when he’d taken out the Scarecrow in the tunnels where the psycho had been holding me. It was curious, because as I watched that deadly attribute swim about in his aura, it simultaneously scared and excited me.
There was no doubt about it. Thomas Reid was a dangerous man, and I was a girl living on the edge.
“His wife and daughter died the night the Blue Beast attacked the bridge,” I said, the admission slipping free of my lips as if it was a poison my body needed to reject. It came out in a whisper, a secret spoken between lovers. “He showed me their picture. They looked so happy in it.”
I watched as understanding filled Thomas’s aura, sympathy swirling there that I wished I could bat away.
“How does he figure that’s your fault?” he asked. “You’re the one who stopped the Beast.”
My throat felt tight, but I spoke past it. “He asked me if the Beast would’ve attacked the city if the Masked Maiden had never come to town.”
