“I’m aware of it.” I instantly regretted the words.
His lips twisted into a smile, but it was one that brokered no comfort for me. “Is that so? And where did you hear about that?”
I paused for a second, my mind scrambling for an answer that wouldn’t get anyone in trouble. “Um, Chris.”
“Chris?” The Cronus squinted for a moment. “You mean the young Chris that was taken by the glitches?”
“Yup.” I nodded. I’m so sorry, please don’t come back from the grave or anything. You understand, right?
“Ah . . . rather odd that he would mention it to you. I don’t remember you two having very much contact.”
“We, ah, bonded.”
“Right.” He pouted and I got the feeling he didn’t believe me. He sank down on the edge of the bed. “Well, regarding your familiar, we are examining and treating him, and as soon as that work is complete, we will return him to you. Our medical technology far exceeds any that you might be—”
“Examining? For what?”
He smiled, and I was reminded of the slobbering grin of the first bubbler I had ever seen, the one that had stared at me through my windshield. No amount of civil grace could hide the malice behind that expression. “Well, child, the dog stood up to a bubbler that was over thirty times its weight and size, and managed to come out with only a scratch. He is a remarkable being—we just need to make sure he is . . . what he appears to be.”
He smiled again, that snake-smile, and I could almost hear my dog cry out in pain. I didn’t know what this man and his ilk might do to an animal like mine, but I didn’t trust him. “I want him back now.”
“He’ll be back soon.” The voice, though just as pleasant as before, held a note of ice and steel. I flinched.
His eyebrow rose briefly, and I got another chill, this time from my empathetic buzz. That’s why he’s here. He’s gauging my reactions.
He grinned and stood, as if to leave. His expression lightened, and he raised a hand, palm-first. “Oh, one more thing. Until we get a small matter straightened out, Shawn will not be training you for a while.”
“What? Why?” I kept my face as neutral as possible, but a cold splash of fear ran down my back. Maybe I didn’t trust Shawn, but I sure as hell didn’t trust this Cronus guy.
He smiled again. “No reason. I just need to straighten some things out. Don’t worry. It has nothing to do with you.”
He floated across the floor and through the door. It wasn’t until he was gone, and I felt sensation returning to my limbs, that I realized my birthmark was burning.
When I woke up in the morning, I was in a different bed. Obviously, they had moved me during the night. I tried to sit up. Although my back hurt, it was mild compared to the previous day.
An orderly bustled in. He was short, with a soft face that still held a bit of baby-fat. “How are you this morning?”
I ignored the way his youth seemed to scream Chris’s name. “Where am I?”
His grin flickered at my stern tone, but only for a moment. “Back in your home compound. You have been cleared to return to your quarters as soon as you return to consciousness. Which, I guess you have!”
I winced at his upbeat tone. It felt like a jackhammer was trying to drive its way into my skull. “And what about my back?” I tried to twist around to look at it, but of course, I couldn’t see anything. Instantly, the cheery orderly retrieved me a hand mirror. “Almost as good as new!”
My mouth fell open at the sight that greeted me in the reflective square. The hospital gown was open in the back, and I could easily see the truth in his words. Some silvery scars and redness, but nothing to imply I literally had just been mauled open.
“I don’t. . ."
“We have the best technology!”
My stomach rolled again. I had to get out of here—but not before a final question. “Do you know where my dog is?”
“I wouldn’t know about that, but you have been cleared to return to your room as soon—”
“Yeah, I got that the first time. Just point me in the right way.”
Judging by the step back he took, the snarl was a little more than he was used to. Still, he pointed me down a hall. After more than the normal amount of bumbling, I found my room and cracked open the door.
To my surprise, Diesel was waiting for me when I opened the door. I had just assumed the Cronus would have held him longer. His leg had been bandaged, but other than that, he looked fine. It didn’t make sense—how could something so small have defended me from a monster? Had he escaped undamaged, or was this more of the mystical healing powers of the Order at work?
I had so many questions, but who could I ask them to? I had no way of contacting Shawn nor did I trust him. Joseph was obviously some kind of evil brainwasher. Josh seemed sweet, but inexperienced and probably unable to help me—although he did stick his neck out for me once. And Buckner? He hadn’t stopped by—but maybe I could find him?
Well, it isn’t going to happen in this room. Granted, my sense of direction was pretty bad—but with enough asking around, I bet I could find him. I hopped out of bed, grabbed the handle and turned it.
It refused to spin, the door rattling in the jamb. I tried it again and again—with the same result.
Maybe it’s stuck. But I knew it wasn’t. This was all the Cronus’s doing.
I kicked at the door, hard. My toes twinged with pain, and the shock traveled all the way up to my knees. I could hear from the thick sound my shoes made that whatever this door was constructed out of, it was sturdy stuff. Nothing I did—including just banging on it and screaming at the top of my lungs like a madman—changed anything.
Clearly, I was a prisoner. The thought should have scared me—but after a night with the bubblers, it didn’t. Instead, I was pissed.
I passed the next two hours by thinking of and trying escape plans—none of which actually worked. A quick examination of my room had revealed that somehow, all of the things I could have used to beat at the door with had been removed in my absence, including the closet rail. Finally, exhausted from my exertions, my still raw back sore and complaining, I lay down on the bed.
All right, what now?
The fabric was still rough, but by now, my body was used to it, and its scratchy toughness felt familiar. I ran a hand over it and let out a sigh.
I had come here to find out more about my father, and God, I had been doing such a bad job of it. It wasn’t my fault, though—I had been pulled between Shawn’s animal magnetism and Joseph’s angelic countenance, distracted by grief and loss and creatures and near-death—what else was I supposed to do? Could anybody have stayed on target this whole time?
Maybe you should go home.
The voice was mine, but it wasn’t—I recognized my mother in the thought, and my stomach flipped over with new grief. The tiny house—probably in the beginning stages of neglect now—popped into my mind. I could smell the sweet-and-sour flowerbeds, wet earthiness of the brick.
I hadn’t been home since my mother died. She was all I had left in that house; why would I go—
And then a memory flashed into my mind. My face and hands were sticky with stolen ice cream, white and black stains that were hardening into stretchy lines—
And then I heard the soft scrape of metal, and a tingle ran down my spine. I crept around the corner to my parents’ room—my heart beating fiercely, and my hands balled into fists. I wanted to run away—but I needed to see . . .
The door was closed, but not all of the way—somebody had pushed it shut, and it had bounced open just a tiny bit, just a crack. I nudged it open a little more with a hand that still contained a fudge-pop stick.
I held my eye to the sliver, and there was my father, his back to me. He was hunched over something—a box—and there was a gentle light spilling into the room. There was an empty spot in the brick above the bed—a hiding place?
My foot stepped on the wrong board, and there was a creak. His head flashed
around, rage over his features.
I turned and ran, tripping into the hall.
And then it was gone. That was all there was—I remembered other things, like he hadn’t really been mad afterward, but that was all I had left. The rest were things I had patched together from the telling and retelling to myself.
Still . . . that expression of rage was all I had of his face. And how had I forgotten the entire scene for so long? I couldn’t have been more than three years old . . .
And the box . . . if I went back to the house, would it still be there? Would I be able to find it?
Diesel’s ears perked. It took a few seconds before I heard the footsteps myself. My heart pounding, I gave him a look. Be quiet, damn you. I sidled against the wall just in time to hear the lock click.
I swallowed. My plan was simple. I was going to rush the door, hopefully knocking out whoever was in the way in the process. I’d figure the rest of it out on the run. I tensed and waited for it.
But the door didn’t fly open like I had thought it would. Instead it cracked, just a sixteenth of an inch, and I heard Josh’s voice. “Charlie?”
I almost groaned.
“Charlie, if you’re standing by the door, you should back up. I don’t want to have to physically intercept and restrain you.”
I didn’t answer.
“Charlie, I know you’re standing there. I was just trying to be nice before.”
Finally, I sighed and gave up, trudging back to the bed and flopping over like Diesel did sometimes. Facedown in the pillow, I yelled through the soft fabric. “Fine.”
The door creaked open, and Josh stepped in. I tilted my face up just enough to see him rub the back of his neck. “Look, Charlie . . . I’m really sorry about this, but um . . . I’ve been asked to see you safely to your training session. I guess I’m also your new trainer, for a little while at least.”
Diesel was silent, but the hair stood up on his neck and he bared his teeth. I knew how he felt—alarm bells were going off in my head, too, and my collarbone was warming slightly. I still didn’t know what that meant—if it responded to danger or just my emotions—but I guessed it was nothing good.
I pressed my face back into the pillows. “I don’t feel well, and my back still hurts a lot. I’m going to stay in bed.” My heart was pounding, and I could feel his eyes traveling over my skin. Part of me felt a little guilty, too, but my chances of escaping were better without an escort.
“I’m sorry, but . . . you kind of have to come with me.” He cleared his throat, and I rolled over to face him. His hand was back on his neck, rubbing in small circles, and he had rolled his bottom lip far enough in to bite it.
I almost bought into his discomfort, but Diesel’s muscles were as tense as iron underneath my fingers, his back literally vibrating with energy.
By now, I trusted my dog’s judgment. So instead of moving, I just stared at him.
“Look, I know that you’re feeling kind of scared—I would be, too. I don’t know what Shawn did, but the Cronus has a real hard-on for him, and they think. . ."
He wilted. His hands fell to his sides, and even the lines of his face drooped all at once. “Has he . . . has he tried to contact you?”
My mind zipped back to the emergency van, the memory of the kiss making my chest tight. “No.”
“Are you . . . sure?”
I had to drop my face back into the pillow. I could feel it flushing, and I couldn’t let it give me away. “Yes. Why do you ask?”
“We . . . I mean, the Cronus . . . thought that he might.” He stepped forward, his feet suddenly appearing in the bottom of my limited field of vision. I saw his shoes, simple black ones, the same as mine, but so much larger. Why do I always have to feel so small?
He took my hand. I jumped as my collarbone flared with warmth.
“That man, Shawn, he’s dangerous. You need to do everything you can to stay away from him. You know what I mean?” I could feel warmth traveling through my whole body. I was sure, now—my birthmark responded to danger. It was searing, roasting me so hot I could almost smell the flesh burn. I stifled my whimper and nodded, trying to ignore the way my eyes suddenly flushed with tears. “Yes, yes, okay?” And don’t lean too close.
After a moment, Josh stepped back, and the pain in my chest suddenly lessened. I sighed with relief, trying not to let him see it. What had just happened to me?
“So . . . are you ready to train?”
As soon as we stepped through the iron door at the end of the tunnel, I was struck with the incongruity of the moment. This room, this whole room, was Shawn’s room. As if impregnated with his life essence, it breathed of him, echoed with his voice. I could feel the room’s anger at being penetrated by another, its wrath that any man would have the impertinence to step onto its mats, to touch its weapons, to breathe its air, without the blessing of its rightful master.
Part of me wanted to run away, but like a driver watching his trailer come around on him in the side mirrors, I was also fascinated. I couldn’t look away from the wrongness of it, from the way Josh held the cudgel to the way he stood, loose and easy. There could be nothing else more wrong, more lacking.
What was happening to me?
“So what were you working on?” He ran a finger over a rack of knives that had been mounted on the wall.
“Tumbling, mostly.”
“Tumbling?” For just a second, his innocent expression faded. I caught the flicker of something deep, sinister—and then it was gone.
I coughed. “Yes, tumbling. He says I need to work on my proprioception.”
Josh pulled a face. “Of course he did. Well, personally, I think it’s good to start with basics. Why don’t we try a couple of falls?”
The next hours went simply enough. It was as if Josh felt as unwelcome in this room as I did. He didn’t push me, not the way Shawn would have.
I got the feeling he didn’t want to push his luck, whatever that meant here.
Still, I tried as hard and concentrated as well as I could, but it was impossible to get my head in it. Every time I pulled myself off of the mat and caught Josh’s eyes upon me, I wondered who was behind that face, and who was pulling his strings. Was he his own agent? Did he work for the Cronus—maybe even more closely than he said? Or was there something else at work here?
With each fall, I tried to tie the pieces together. Shawn to Buckner. Josh to the Cronus. And who did Joseph tie to? What was each man’s role in all of this, and what did they want?
As I positioned myself for a backward fall, I was hit with a heavy wave of nostalgia. I wanted my old life back. I wanted the simplicity of the heartbreak of a cheating ex who didn’t love you and a job that pushed you too hard to get any sleep. I wanted—
Wait, did I tuck my chin—
The back of my head slammed into the mat. Blind pain speared through my eyes and forehead and what felt like my brain. I gagged, the taste of copper thick on my tongue. I had bitten it. “Shit!’
“Hey, hey . . . are you all right?” Josh stood, a few feet from me, pacing like a cat trying to cross water.
I rolled over onto my front and scrambled to my feet. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just a little dizzy.”
“It’s okay.” He reached out again and awkwardly laid a hand on my back, and a flurry of questions raced through my brain.
He was touching me. This man that I didn’t trust or know, this potential key factor in my captivity—he was touching me, acting like he was trying to protect me.
Why wasn’t my birthmark burning now?
Confusion swirled through my brain, and whatever was holding me together broke. My eyes blurred with tears, and I leaned into him with a sob. I didn’t care anymore, didn’t care if he was a friend or the enemy or something else. Go ahead and kill me—everyone else is trying to!
I needed this touch. I craved it. How long had it been since somebody had shown me some comfort, some care?
He patted my back lightly. It took a few moments b
efore I realized that there was something wrong with the motion, something off about the pace or the pressure.
I swallowed. It wasn’t real. I didn’t know how I could tell, but I could. I could feel how tense he was, the way his whole body suddenly hardened into brick. Under my cheek, his heart suddenly speeded up to a pace that was almost impossible.
My sanity returned, and with it came embarrassment and awkwardness. This man didn’t want me touching him—and even if he did, what was I doing? “Look, can I go back to my room now? I’m just so exhausted.”
“Sure, I’ll take you back, but don’t forget—you’ve got driver’s training in two hours.”
Fuck. My whole body tensed at the thought of another session with Joseph. I had completely forgotten about that.
The Angel was standing out by his truck. It was clear from the shine of the chrome and the cloth in his hand that he had been doing a little polishing. “Welcome back. I hear you got tangled up with a bubbler.” He shot me a smile that sparkled almost as much as his bumper did. Instantly, my body responded. Heat ran through me, all of the way to my toes, and my head buzzed.
“Stop it!” I shoved him hard in the chest, trying to ignore the way even that contact with him seemed to thrill every part of me. “I know what you’re doing! Stop!”
Joseph’s smile dropped, and he glanced over his shoulder. The look on his face froze my veins. “You have no idea what you’re doing!” he hissed. “Get in the truck, now! Act like everything is normal!”
He grabbed my hand. I struggled as hard as I could, but his strength was phenomenal. My shoulder and armpit screamed as he dragged me along around the trailer. With my free hand, I tried beating at his head and scratching his face, but it was clear from his reaction that I wasn’t having a better effect than a flyswatter. On a bull.
He had to drop my hand a little bit to get enough leverage to open the trailer doors. I pulled, hard. For just a moment, there was the sensation of contact breaking, of my freedom—but before I could run away, he tackled me.
My heart beat hard, as I remembered the Bubbler, and for a moment, I didn’t know where I was, but then my face slammed into the asphalt, and the pain drove me back to this moment. I could feel the wound on my back in sharp relief, a burning fire that I knew was the scar reopening.
Birthmarked Page 18
