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

by Thea Atkinson

  The Beast tapped his finger against the corner of his mouth. "I didn't say I'd let him out." He lifted his hand to the air, giving some sort of signal, and the men grunted as they lifted it onto the dollies.

  "A few more days in that isolation tank and he'll be good as new," the Beast said. "And you, you will be fresh as a daisy for the picking. And oh how we'll pick."

  Chapter 5

  Henrik was out flat on the ruined sidewalk when Theda moaned herself back to full awareness. Not in any practice session with her mother had she witnessed such an intense past life. She'd walked several of her mom's clients through some nasty times, yes, but to be so intimately connected with the re-vision was an anomaly. She looked down at the young man and his bent leg, crooked awkwardly to the side, and worked to shake off the memory. What of any of that mattered now? All that she cared about was the half-ten so she could get her coffee, and like an idiot, she'd forgotten to make him pay first.

  She stooped to peer over his face, studying his eyelids, waiting to see if they'd flutter open. When they didn't, she chewed her cheek in thought. Go through his pockets for the money or just walk away and leave him there?

  She knelt next to him and patted down his suit jacket.

  "That's some weird shit."

  The voice came from a few feet away. Theda swallowed and her eyes eased closed, bracing herself. When she glanced up again, it was with a casual, careful eye.

  "No weirder than the shit I've seen you do," she said to the hooker chewing a wad of gum like it was a cud.

  "I don't blow them to death, honey," the hooker said, swallowing visibly enough that Theda could watch the Adam's apple take its temporary plunge and rise again to lodge itself in the middle of his throat.

  "He's not dead."

  The trannie hooker shrugged. "What do I care? Just do that shit far enough away, you don't scare off my clientele." She re-tucked her balls between her butt cheeks from beneath the scarf-length skirt, then toddled away on her stilettos.

  Theda went back to rummaging Henrik's pockets, wishing he'd wake the hell up. This close, she realized he was older than she'd first thought; definite signs of shaved stubble peppered his chin. Even better. She was sure to find some kind of cash, then. Except she'd best find it fast. She didn't like the feeling of having her back to the street, crouched down and vulnerable. She scooted sideways, trying to edge away from the gang of late-age teens who had evidently finished their torture of the older gentleman and were now whistling at one of the hookers. She hoped for the tranny's sake, it wasn't directed her way.

  "Get the hell up," she hissed at the john, then clamped down on the religious term. She had to remember to be more careful. No Jesus, no holy Hells, no oh my Gods. Fuck seemed about the best alternative. Verb, adverb, adjective, and noun all in the one.

  "Get the fuck up," she hissed. She slapped his cheek. "Seriously, dude, it wasn't all that."

  She dug into his pants pocket when he didn't respond and her fingers found a crinkled wad of paper. Finally. A full ten, she realized when she pulled it out and unfolded it. Her mouth watered just thinking of the possibilities.

  "You know I can't make change," she said. "And after the shit you're pulling on me, I think you owe me the extra."

  She stretched to a stand without giving him a second look. The street was a decent enough spot that she could return tomorrow, run down another trick. If she was lucky, this lump of skin and bones would be gone long before then, making sure the location didn't get some nasty reputation before she got back to ply the trade. How glorious. A means to survive. All thanks to Mommy dearest and her so-called demons. She mouthed a thanks to the Heavens that her father hadn't managed to exorcise his wife free.

  She jammed the ten into her pocket and was trying to decide which direction to go first to score her smear--past the biker or past the gang--when she heard the fellow groaning awake. She couldn't help rolling her eyes, frustrated.

  "Just get out of here," she said over her shoulder.

  He was sitting already, staring at her with such amazement she couldn't help a stupid responsive smile in the face of his awe.

  "Some ride, huh?" she asked him.

  He said nothing, which suited her just fine. She shrugged and started to make her way toward the biker. The possibility of a singular assault was preferable to a gang one, she supposed, but if those teens were here tomorrow, she'd have to find another spot to trick herself out.

  "You can't tell anyone," the john said from behind her.

  "No shit, Sherlock," she called back.

  The pounding of dress shoes on pave, fingers on her shoulder, gripping it tightly.

  "I mean it."

  She swung around. His eyes bore into her.

  "You think I'm stupid?" she said.

  His jaw shifted just enough that she knew he wanted to answer that but decided not to. "I think you'd do or say anything for another fix."

  "Caught me," she said, hands up in surrender. "Now let me go."

  He released his grip on her, but he stepped closer, lowering his voice. "Do you know what you just showed me?" He sent harried looks about the street. "Did you see it?"

  She shifted weight to one foot. "I see lots of things."

  "But this. You saw this."

  She nodded.

  The admission seemed to make him more nervous. "You saw it all?"

  "Listen," she said, getting annoyed, feeling the itch of withdrawal starting to creep beneath her skin. "I told you. I see it. I saw it. I'll see it again. I shut my mouth. I fix. I eat. I do it all over the next day." She put her palm on his shoulder. "That's it."

  "But you really need to keep this one secret."

  "This one?" She scratched at her elbow. "You're no more special than any other trick." She didn't admit he was her first because she planned on doing so many more. Enough to keep her in godspit until the world ended again. "I don't tell any stories."

  "Good," he said, relaxing. "Good. Because this one could mean the lives of thousands of souls. A dozen dozen thousand."

  She shifted to her other foot, squinting at him for using such a loaded word as souls. "Life is overrated."

  "Not this time," he said. "Promise me."

  "Promise what?"

  "To keep it secret."

  "Fuck," she complained. "I told you already--"

  "Promise it."

  She sighed and stuck two fingers in the air. "I do solemnly swear never to divulge the content of the life you remembered."

  "Lives," he corrected.

  "And never to mention the lives that are at stake."

  "No, not that. I meant--"

  "Listen," she said, "My stomach is starting to cramp, and I'm going to literally heave up its lining if I don't get my fix. You understand that, right?"

  He nodded and backed away. "Henrik," he said before he turned away. "My name is Henrik. In case you ever need me."

  She'd laughed. "I need a fix, Henrik. If you aren't willing to fund it on a daily basis, then I'd say get the fuck outta here and don't come back."

  The memory uncoiled as Theda rode along behind Cain on Kat's motorcycle. It had been a difficult story to tell. Both he and Ami had listened intently in the hours before Kat had returned for her. At the end of it Cain had done no more than nod as though he got the entire picture when she knew he couldn't. How could she impart the sense of freefall that assaulted her when she landed into someone else's memories, of guiding them through it all as they felt their desperation, their shame? Except Henrik's experience had been more than that. He had known it was special, even as she hadn't. Too deep in her own addiction to care what she showed him.

  "I had no idea Henrik started sending clients my way," she'd told Cain. "I was so committed to the godspit that each john meant no more to me than a smear. Although I did get smart after that and made them provide a clean test first."

  "And money up front," he'd chuckled.

  "Damn straight."

  She could tell even then that ta
lking about those first weeks after the Apocalypse made Ami uneasy; he went quiet and fidgeted with his shirt buttons. She should have realized that the story would paint him as a drug dealer using the survivors' station as a means to push his wares, but for the life of her she couldn't imagine why he would care. It wasn't as if anyone in New Earth worried about such things.

  It wasn't until they'd begun to work out the plan to use Kat as a kind of homing pigeon for Ezekiel that Ami came back to life, arguing against Theda's use of the incapacitating smear. His was the idea for Theda to use an inert one, so she'd be aware in case she was in danger.

  And now, here she was, riding behind the real and true son of Adam, heading for a place so heinous it couldn't wear a label as benign as evil, disguised as one of the horsemen's more brutal generals. In danger? Just a scootch.

  Only the departed god would craft such an idiotic plan and expect the miracle it would take to work.

  They parked the bike a block away so that Cain could enter the den first.

  "Wait at least twenty minutes before you follow me," he said. "I'll try to find a spot close to the door."

  "There's a kind of lounging area first," she said, remembering Sasha's complex. "Then you have to pay to get into the den."

  "I'm aware of that."

  She eyed him warily, a dozen questions about exactly how much he knew itching her tongue. She settled on an easy one. "Do you have enough?"

  "I do. The real question is whether or not Kat has a tab or if the Beast is paying. You're going to have to be cagey about that one."

  Her throat tightened. Exactly how would she be able to get around that without ruining the ruse? Her ridiculous disguise was bad enough.

  "Ready?"

  She shook her head at him, but he ignored her response. "Good," he said. "You'll think of something."

  She watched him walk off and for one second considered walking in the other direction. Then she remembered Ezekiel, taken by the Red General because the Beast did not like him saving Religion-Monger Number One, of murdering his favorite doctor who was supposed to re-educate the belief out of her. Ezekiel: her reason for coming here in the first place, and she let her feet pace the sidewalk. Twice, her heels twisted in the boots reminding her of how foolish a plan it was. After several back-and-forths, she began to master the height of the heels and even managed to work in the same kind of swagger she thought Kat possessed. She could do this. If she didn't talk, maybe. If she just acted as though they all owed her something. If she treated them like she would hurt them as quickly as she looked at them.

  The twenty minutes went by too fast. She couldn't keep her mouth clear of water, but she pressed forward anyway, practicing the swagger as she went. She stopped in front of the door, took a deep breath, and pounded on it. Almost too late, she remembered the sunglasses and jammed them onto her face just as the door opened.

  At least it wasn't Sasha who stood there, which meant at least she wouldn't be made as the religion-monger that still peered out from the Promos. One small gift from the universe. Several more would be ideal.

  The spindly youth whose fingers spidered the doorframe looked too scared at the way Theda stood there with her hip slung to the side to think he believed she was anything other than the Red General. Gift number two.

  "I left somthin' here," Theda mumbled, trying to imitate the clipped off way the general delivered her words. "Someone."

  The youth nodded and stepped aside. Gift number three. Theda's heart flipflopped. She was in. Better than that, the youth seemed to believe that the general had left someone here. Ezekiel. It had to be. She sought out Cain's eye as he leaned against the bookcase, swirling a cognac glass, but avoiding contact with any of the myriad businessmen waiting to be admitted further into the den. He gave her the most subtle of nods, turning away casually and finding a chair to settle into. Theda didn't dare give him any more signal, instead she followed the youth wordlessly down the hallway she remembered, trying to calm her heart beat as she drew closer to the podium that stood outside the double doors. She noticed that the feather pen was still there, that the antiqued chest still hunkered against the wall. She shivered as she remembered what Sasha might easily have pulled out from there, of the leashes and collars of all sorts.

  The youth didn't even bother to stop at the podium but went for the double doors. Theda couldn't believe her luck. Three gifts was a miracle; four was enough to make her want to drop to her knees in thankful, if not highly illegal, prayer.

  She kept up the swagger, the air that she owned the place, that she owned the breath of everyone within it until the youth pushed his key into the lock of a great oak door and pushed it open. Like the last room she'd been in, the room was decorated for the bondage crowd. The metal cage in this room sat on the far side, but it was much smaller than the last one she'd seen. About three feet across and just high enough that the top of it peeked out over the top of the bed. She knew the sheets would be made of plastic, that the walls were insulated against sound, that the cage itself would be devoid of any type of comfort.

  There was a slight rattling coming from the cage, and she knew someone was chained inside. Someone: Ezekiel. She tried to swallow down the excitement, to casually face the youth and give him her best imitation of a soldier expecting to have complete privacy to resume her duties.

  She had to get the maître d' out of there before she could even pay attention to the cage. She had to make sure he was good and gone.

  She stuck her hand on her hip, fondling the pistol resting in its holster. The youth's eyes were glued to the way her finger traced the outline of the trigger. She knew she had him.

  "I think you'll find everything you requested is in order," he said, placing his palm out, for money, she supposed. She gave him a dark look over her sunglasses. "But if you want to stay an extra night, that's not covered."

  "I won't need it," she said.

  He seemed to hesitate, and she needed to pull the gun from the holster before he rushed out, pulling the door closed.

  She could barely breathe for the eagerness. She was pulling at her boots, trying to get across the room without falling in them, not daring to call out to Ezekiel until she was sure the maître d' was long gone. She had one boot off and was hopping around the bed, trying to figure out why the curled up form inside was so flabby rather than lean-muscled, why the hair was so short, when the excitement squeezed her throat.

  The councilman peered up at her, his ferret eyes landing on her in a way that lit his face with hope.

  Chapter 6

  The men holding her by the arms began to wrestle her toward the second tank. It was almost ironic that she'd lead Ezekiel in here under the pretense that there was a second tank in the first place. Now, she was fighting her way toward it, trying her level best to resist being shoved inside.

  "But what about Kat?" she demanded of the Beast, twisting to look over her shoulder at him. "You don't even know where she is."

  "I might not know where she is, but I know she'll be back. She has her own reasons for returning to me."

  "She's sick," Theda said. "You have no idea how bad off she is."

  "No worse off than Ezekiel," the Beast said with a quirked brow.

  It was Theda's turn to smile. So she knew something the Beast didn't. That was encouraging. Until now the only leverage she had was knowing something he didn't and like a fool she'd given that up. Now, she felt as though scales had been tipped back in her favor. It didn't make it any easier to be wrestled inside the tank, but at least she could soothe her conscience with it.

  The fit into the chamber was tight, with a plush inside cushion that seeped up around every hollow in her body as though it were water. Some sort of liquefied gel, she presumed; not uncomfortable, but frightening in how close it suctioned up against her limbs.

  "What are you going to do with Ezekiel?"

  The Beast's voice came from somewhere to her right. "Don't you worry about Ezekiel. We'll have him in hand."

&
nbsp; Every time she tried to scramble back out, rough hands pushed her back in. She started crying long before she realized she was. Her neck was wet with cold tears. At the last of it, one of the horsemen apparently grew tired of constantly pushing her back inside the tank and backhanded her across the ear. She staggered backward, her hand gone instinctively to the side of her head, trying to cup the pain and warm it away.

  She didn't panic until the lid started to climb up over her legs.

  "Please don't," she sobbed. She couldn't help it now. Her entire body was trembling and she was clawing at the hands that were trying to hold her pinned. She was vaguely aware that the thudding from inside Ezekiel's canister had stopped. That just made her more frantic. She gave everything she had to sitting up, to trying to seize the lip of the canister and pull herself out. She had her fingers rapped with the butt of a pistol and she shrieked in sudden pain, but she couldn't let it stop her from kicking at the insides.

  A single word cut through the terror, creeping over the cover to find her.

  "Wait."

  The horsemen froze at the Beast's voice. Theda stilled long enough to look up and see his face above hers. His hair had shaken loose of its oil slick and drooped alongside his temples in a greasy wave that made her stomach recoil.

  "Would you like a smear, little junkie?"

  Without waiting for an answer, he tossed in a square. It wafted down onto her belly and stole her attention just long enough for them to seal the cover the rest of the way.

  She was left in darkness.

  She could hear, but everything was muffled.

  She could breathe, but only to pull in stagnant hot air.

  Surely there was a way out. There had to be some crack somewhere that she could stick her fingers into, that she could claw her way through. And even if there wasn't enough purchase to tear through the material, there had to be one sliver of light.

  Every nerve ending around her eyes was on fire as the orbs inside strained to see through the darkness. Each frenzied breath she took seemed to get absorbed by the gel, making it vibrate beneath her. Even her heartbeat was loud enough to nearly drown out her futile wailing, and after what seemed an eternity all she could think about was wanting to go deaf just so she'd never have to hear her own voice again.