Theta Waves Box Set: The Complete Trilogy (Books 1-3) (Theta Waves Trilogy)

by Thea Atkinson

  "Excuse me?" Theda said and wished even as the words came from her mouth that she could bite her tongue. This was no way to get her fix. No way at all.

  The man whirled on her, pulling the girl along in a renewed whimpering mess. He had pock marks on his nose large enough that the dirt within made them look like moles. Theda tried her best to disguise the shudder that moved up her spine. He looked like he would speak except for the rage that had captured his tongue.

  Theda locked eyes with Salima's. They were black and wide and even in the light of the hallway, she couldn't tell where the girl's pupils ended and irises began. Cleopatra was a perfect persona for the girl. Theda bent over delicately, in a purposefully subtle bow toward the pile of dung that still gripped the girl by her hair.

  "You purchased her from the boutique?"

  She couldn't see him from her subjugated position, but she could tell by the tightness of his voice that his entire face had become a pinched up pile of muscle. "That's none of your business, bitch. Now move on."

  She showed him her fist of money. "Is this enough to get me into the boutique?"

  There was a pause and she dared peer up at the piece of shit. He'd relaxed his hold on the girl's hair just enough that the skin around her eyes returned to normal. "A girl like you doesn't need money to get in," he said, staring at her without blinking.

  "How fortunate," she said, hoping that the small respite had made him forget his anger at the girl. It wasn't much, but it was all Theda had to offer. Salima had already stopped whimpering and was making barely audible little choking sounds that indicated she was gathering her wits back together. Theda offered her a brief look of apology and then turned to make her way down the rest of the hallway. She got nearly a dozen paces before the man called out to her.

  "Hey, spitter," he said and waited for her to turn around.

  When she didn't, he chuckled loudly enough that Theda could make out the undercurrent of cruelty within it.

  "Tell them I sent you," he called after her. "Maybe they'll turn you into an Anne Boleyn." At this he laughed straight out and Theda could hear the chain rattling again, Salima's sobs renewing.

  That was about as much salvation as Theda had in her. She fled the rest of the hallway, her bare feet catching in the material of the bed spread as she stumbled into the yawning expanse of the common room. She took a few moments to catch her breath, and realized her cheeks were wet.

  If she ever needed a godspit fix, it was now.

  She sent harried looks about the room, trying not to take in any actual activities, trying only to assess the faces and postures of those within. Surely one of them had a smear for sale. Surely one of them could tell her where she could score a fist-full-of-cash worth.

  It was like trying to find the least of all evils, trying to lay her eyes on an obvious dealer. The haze of the room barely disguised the glazed looks of the spitters who were obviously just out of the peak of the bliss, coming down, in some cases landing hard. It was when they were the most vulnerable, Theda knew. It was the time when they would do anything for the promise of another fix. It was the time they felt the most shame and the most need in equal measures. Exactly how she felt right then.

  Either no one in the room cared what was happening around them, or they had long become desensitized to it. For Theda, it was like a Virgin peek at hard-core pornography; it was a forensic look at a newborn.

  The smell of pot permeated the room but couldn't disguise the stink of sex and blood. It confused itself with that of sweat until, stumbling through the crowds of patrons and spitters alike, Theda couldn't tell whether the haze came from the smoke or from the stink. It was tough to avert her gaze from the faces of the spitters as they performed whatever act they were bid; there was a desperation behind their eyes that Theda knew so well that her mouth watered.

  Her gaze settled on a couple on the far side of the room. He looked to be thirty something and his companion, obviously a spitter, knelt in front of him as he stroked his member with such fierceness and determination that she couldn't pull her eyes away until a female voice came from beside, breaking the spell.

  "Why do you suppose it's always in the eye?"

  Theda turned. "What's that?" she asked, tearing her gaze away and onto the lithe redhead beside her. A sense of elegant poise quivered in every line of the woman's body.

  "The eye. Why do you suppose they like to shoot into the eye?" The woman inclined her head toward the couple and Theda followed her gaze. Indeed, the girl on her knees was wiping semen from her left eyebrow and off her eyelashes.

  Theda couldn't help chuckling softly. "And always the left one," she said to the redhead. Now that she really looked at her, Theda could see that despite the sense of elegance, the woman's makeup was heavy and artificial. Almost, too perfect.

  "You look familiar," the redhead said.

  "Of course I do," Theda said, floundering for an explanation, any explanation even as she tried to deflect the woman's attention from her face by showing her the fist-full of money. "I'm Anne Boleyn."

  The woman wrapped her fingers under Theda's, closing her fist over the money. "The last Anne Boleyn lost her head over less godspit than that will buy," she said. "You don't look that stupid."

  Theda swallowed, trying to rid her mouth of the waterfall leaking from her cheeks. She was close. So close. She could taste it, feel the tingle on her tongue. She had to get this done before Ezekiel came back, if he came back.

  "I'm not that stupid. I know how much I can get. What I want to know is if you can get it for me?"

  The woman smiled thinly, deepening the lines beside her mouth. "What if I told you the money wasn't enough?"

  "I'd tell you I'll get it from outside and save myself a few hundred dollars."

  The redhead chewed the inside of her cheek, revealing just how much of her lips were drawn on in cherry red pencil. "We both know you're not going to do that," she said.

  So she'd been made. Maybe Sasha had even known when she came in with Ezekiel exactly who she was, maybe he'd seen her face on the promo. Maybe everyone in the room knew. Maybe the man in the hallway, the teenaged Cleopatra. She had to think fast.

  "What you want?"

  The redhead stuck her tongue in the corner of her mouth reflectively. "It just so happens I do have an opening for an Anne Boleyn."

  Realization dawned. "You own the boutique."

  The woman didn't so much as nod. "A few hours. That's all it takes."

  Theda looked down at the bills in her fist. "I can pay. All of this for just one smear."

  The redhead shook her head. "Where do you think you are? This isn't some seedy street corner in the East End."

  "On a street corner, I'd be able to afford a dozen smears." Maybe that's what she would do; slip out onto the street. Find a dealer. Load up. It was still dark out, perhaps even enough that no one would notice her, recognize her.

  "A dozen smears for a spitter like you might last six days tops." The redhead tossed her hair back over her shoulder. "You don't have to answer; I know I'm right. What would you do if I told you that the Anne Boleyn part pays a smear for every day for the rest of your life?"

  Theda tried to tell herself that the tingle in the base of her neck that stretched down to the bottom of her spine, was anticipation. She tried not to think about Ezekiel coming back and finding the room empty. "How long did you say?"

  "A few hours." The redhead crossed her arms over her chest, cocking her head to the side. "It's a pretty good deal if I do say so myself."

  Theda thought about the teenaged Cleopatra and understood finally. A few hours with a disgusting man, playing out his distorted fantasies, and ending up with enough smears to last your lifetime. If a girl played it right, if she ate well, stayed half healthy, she might be able to extend that life into years and years of pleasurable bliss.

  It was more than the ruin of this new world could offer anyone.

  She wanted to tell the boutique owner that she agreed, that i
t was a fair deal, but all she could do was nod her head in silence because her throat had thickened itself closed, choking off everything but the anticipation.

  Chapter 14

  The Boutique took an entire wing of the building and was lit by natural light bulbs. The costumes didn't just droop from clothes hangers, but were draped on wax figures of the famous person they were meant to represent. Alexander the great wore his linen armor as he sat astride Bucephalas. Bonnie and Clyde hung outside of their getaway car, grasping bags of money and semiautomatic rifles. Even literary characters were presented in the boutique: Jekyll and Hyde, Dracula and Mena, even Hamlet and Ophelia.

  Anne Boleyn sat next to her portly husband, looking afraid and vulnerable. The black wig on that wax mannequin had been knocked askew and Theda moved to straighten it. She noticed the pearls around the figure's neck had begun to brown from age or maybe from the sweat of its previous wearers.

  "I want a smear up front," Theda said to the redhead.

  "Certainly."

  "And I want some sort of contract. I want to know how you're going to deliver the godspit to me."

  "You're getting ahead of yourself," the redhead said. "I've been in this business a long time. I know how to handle it. Shall we set you up with your first hit?"

  It was almost too good to be true. "Right now?"

  "A girl doesn't buy an expensive pair of shoes without first trying them on."

  The redhead crooked her finger at Theda, leading her down an aisle of rock stars. At the end was a solid wood door that opened without a single creak. Inside, draped across loungers and fainting couches were a myriad of youth in the throes of euphoria. Theda's heart began to beat so fast she could hear it in her ears. She turned to the redhead.

  "When do I get my smear?"

  "Very soon. You have to be approved first."

  "None of them seemed to be waiting to be approved." She pointed at an older woman propped against a younger man, both like everyone else in the room. It seemed to her that at least one person should be Jonesing like nobody's business.

  "They've been approved already."

  That didn't seem right. Theda knew the high could last for hours, but surely some of them would be sweating from withdrawal by now, some of them smiling ear to ear uncontrollably at peak, some of them shaking into the first escalation of ecstasy. They all seemed to be equally comatose.

  The redhead placed an elegant hand on her hip, aiming it toward a gaunt man in his early 20s curled into an overstuffed chair. "He wore the Jim Morrison outfit a few hours ago for a woman who fancied herself Pamela Courson."

  There couldn't be too much shame or humiliation in that one, Theda thought. "Then why is he still here? Surely he'd take his smears and go."

  The redhead looked at her strangely. "He didn't sign the same contract you have. If he doesn't perform, he gets nothing."

  She'd bought him, Theda realized. Just one more slave working for his fix. She should consider herself lucky to have the option. Theda had seen enough. She'd wasted enough time already; there was a chair in the far corner with an ottoman of matching material that could have been taken straight from her mother's living room. "I want that spot," she said and held out her hand.

  The redhead licked her lips thoughtfully. "Greedy one, aren't you? I'll get your party lined up straightaway so you can relax and enjoy."

  Theda was left to pick her way to the chair. She stretched into it, placing her feet on the ottoman, and laying her head back against the cushion. If she closed her eyes, she could imagine being in her mother's living room, hear the rattling of dinner dishes off to her left as her mom prepared supper. She could hear father praying over his Bible, asking his god to help him lead his flock.

  She forced her eyes open. She would rather see the reality of where she was now, watch the spitters drool in their euphoria, than think back to that time. That time made her itch all over. It made her squirm in the chair. She should have picked another one. She scanned the room, searching for an empty place and found one, a small cot lodged between two fainting couches. She was heading for it when she heard a commotion on the other side of the door.

  Whatever it was, it was going to keep her from getting her godspit; she edged closer, leaning in so that her ear was close to the door jam. Shouting came from the other side, and crying. Sobs that raised the hair on Theda's arms. She knew the sound of it. She knew the sound of the voice complaining on the other end, too. The first was Salima, Theda was sure of it. Selena and her portly master. She cracked the door open.

  Her john had a hard grip on Salima's bicep, shaking her as he yelled at the redhead. "She's no good," he said. "She won't roll into the carpet. She won't seduce me."

  "I wouldn't have thought that would be such a big deal," the redhead said calmly. "It's not exactly what you paid for, after all."

  Theda watched the little Cleopatra's eyes squeeze shut as she cried even harder. That infuriated her john even more. "I want a refund."

  "You won't get a refund," the redhead said. "It's up to you to get your money's worth."

  "Well, I can't," he complained. "She took one look at the snake and bolted for the door. I grabbed her just in time, but I have no idea where the snake went."

  The redhead groaned. "You left that deadly thing to crawl into some crevice? You idiot. You didn't pay me enough to deal with that foolishness." She massaged her temples and then through clenched teeth said, "I would have thought you could handle a little slip of a girl."

  "What about my refund?"

  "There are no refunds, you know that."

  For some reason, Salima began to sob uncontrollably, and this time instead of getting angry, the john let her go so that she sank to the floor, wrapping her arms around her knees. The redhead looked at her irritably.

  "You could have gone with something painless," the redhead said. "One little bite and it would have been over."

  At first Salima rocked back and forth as she wept, saying nothing, but then she lifted her head from her knees as though she'd just realized something that she should have understood before. She looked from the redhead to the portly john, snot and tears mingling on her face. Theda watched her throat constrict as she swallowed in realization. She began to shake her head back and forth, the hair sticking to her face, her eyes so wide it brought a chill to Theda's arms.

  "No." One single word then repeated in a litany that was almost like a prayer if prayers could be voiced in this new world. "No, no, no."

  The redhead kicked at her, knocking her to the floor into a fetal position. "I'm afraid yes," she said. "I have a client waiting to become Jack the Ripper. Are you old enough to know who that is? No? No matter; I think you'll do just fine as Mary Kelly."

  It was the way she said it that brought Theda's mind back to the deal she'd made with the redhead. A free smear for every day she lived. It made her think about the part she had agreed to play: Anne Boleyn. She'd been married to Henry for about 3 1/2 years. She'd managed to live in the tower for 17 days before she was executed. She wondered how many hours that would condense down to.

  The last Anne Boleyn lost her head for less smears than Theda could pay for with four-hundred dollars. A fistful of cash and still not enough to keep her alive for even a day.

  She realized exactly what the boutique sold in that moment and it took the strength out of her knees. She had only to look at Salima and know that the girl hadn't realized she was swapping a few hours of high for a part in a real life snuff play. Hadn't realized it until just now when the part she had to play for her next john would be far worse than the deadly pinprick of the serpent's teeth on her neck.

  And now she was trapped here, with no way to get out except past the redhead and Salima, and the portly bastard.

  And with Ezekiel, her bounty hunter and reluctant protector nowhere in the vicinity, it was then she had to find a way to save herself.

  Chapter 15

  Theda backed away from the door. There was no way she could hide; sh
e couldn't give any indication that she'd heard what went on in the other room. What she had to do was try to look casual, to look as though she was waiting for her smear, to paste on the look of an addict jonesing for her drug. She had to make the redhead believe nothing was amiss.

  Now, just how to do that, when her chest was heaving from fear was as good a question as any. She tore for the chair and ottoman, reclining into it just in time. The door opened, spilling out both the redhead and the portly customer. Just beyond, Theda could make out two burly youths gripping Salima by her arms. Both of them had sidearms.

  "All of these are spoken for," the redhead said to the portly man as she entered. "But I have one in the back who I think might suit. I had her pegged for an Anne Boleyn, but I know you wanted to try something different for a change."

  Theda watched as he laid his gaze on her. It was obvious he recognized her immediately. A smile spread across his face that made her stomach convulse. "Sometimes the old standbys offer a man the best gratification," he said, touching his lip with the back of his index finger.

  The redhead strolled through the room toward her, nodding. "She's fair, perhaps too fair, I know," she said. "But she has those same wide set black eyes, and such a lovely long neck."

  Theda made herself sit up at attention, all the while working to keep from trembling. She couldn't let them see her fear.

  "So, am I good enough?" She demanded and hoped they didn't hear the tremor in her voice. "Do you approve?" She had a feeling that contract or not, changing her mind wouldn't be an option at this point. They had her exactly where they wanted her; what the redhead counted on was Theda's ignorance.

  The john scratched his nose. "I couldn't have asked for a better fit," he said, turning to the redhead. "When can I have her?"

  A noise came from the other room that stole the redhead's attention for a moment, a frown overtaking her face, but she recovered quickly and turned her eyes on Theda. "I promised her a fix first," she said.