Luminous

by Corrina Lawson

  “That’s not what I was going to ask about.”

  “Okay. What were you going to ask?”

  “Before. When we were together, that was good.”

  He should have guessed. Of course she wanted to talk about it. She was a woman. He wished he could see her face, or at least watch her body language. This kind of conversation was always a minefield. Now he had to have it without even seeing how she reacted to his fumbling attempts at saying the right thing.

  “It was great between us,” he said. She could hardly disagree with that, right?

  A long pause. He drank down his coffee, terrified of speaking again and putting his foot in his mouth.

  “Doc Leslie talked about using body paint to give me a visible shape again. He thought maybe enough shape to have some kind of job.”

  “A spray-on tan might work too,” Al allowed. His mind wandered to what it would be like to paint her. Incredible.

  “Do you think it’s possible for me to have a job like a normal person?”

  “I don’t know. I’ve never been a normal person with a normal job.” He fiddled with the cover to the empty cup. “What kind of job did the doc talk about?”

  “Hospital security.”

  He snorted. “He would. He’d love someone to watch his back, that’s for sure.”

  “And he said I had talent. I mean, with the drawing. He said that artists are allowed to be eccentric and I wouldn’t raise any alarms even if I stayed masked.”

  “I think the doctor gave you some excellent advice.” And Leslie certainly had been talkative too.

  Noir clasped Al’s hand. “I never thought past getting Jill. I figured my life would always be like this.”

  “Being single-minded about catching bad guys myself, I’ve been down that road. I’m told, though, that people have lives and shit like family all the time.”

  She laughed.

  Whew. He’d said the right thing.

  He waited a moment to see if she wanted to talk more about “them” but she didn’t so he concentrated again on the warehouse. He wondered if he should mention reaching out to officials in Queen City, looking for missing persons who matched Noir’s general description. No, he’d wait on that until he had something concrete.

  He almost missed the telltale glimmer on the rooftop, but he narrowed his eyes, looked again, and the glare of the moon caught the barrel of the gun being held by the guard on the roof. Now he had confirmation, enough to call for backup. Even if this wasn’t Jill’s headquarters, it was likely someone was using the place for something illegal. Either way, it would be a good bust.

  And he’d need backup to fight Jack the monster. He sent out a call over the police radio for a patrol car. They could be his backup while he walked closer to case the place. He didn’t like the idea of sending the tactical force in blind, not with the way Jack had ripped apart the people at the bank. He wouldn’t miss the squad leader but some of his team could be good cops.

  Noir could scout ahead for him. He needed the edge her invisibility provided to rescue the hostage.

  “I want you to get out and walk to that loading dock. Stay in the shadows. Jill knows you’re invisible, remember? Let’s not give her or anyone else a reason to suspect you’re there.”

  “I’ll have to take off the bandage.”

  He nodded. He heard the crunch of tires over broken pavement. The patrol car pulled to the side of his unmarked vehicle. “Noir, stay clear of these guys. The less we have to explain to people, the better.”

  “I know that.”

  Al imagined that she’d rolled her eyes at him. He got out of the car and felt her slip out behind him before he closed the door. He adjusted his weapon holster, doubled-checked the frequency on his police radio and faced the newcomers. The weight of the snub-nosed revolver in his ankle holster reassured him.

  He didn’t recognize the officers. That was probably good since most of the cops he did know were dirty. Maybe these were good guys. They certainly looked fresh-faced enough.

  “Lieutenant Aloysius James, homicide,” he said to the uniforms. “I’m investigating this as the location of the suspect wanted in connection with the bank murders.”

  They nodded.

  “I’m going to get closer and have a look around.”

  The two officers, one white and one Latino, exchanged a look. “You want us to go in with you, Lieutenant?”

  “No, I want you to stay here, monitor the situation and call for help if needed. You’ll need the tactical team if you lose contact with me.”

  “No can do.” The white officer drew his gun, grinning.

  Fuck.

  Al went for his weapon, but the second cop grabbed his wrist. The first one slugged him in the jaw. He sagged momentarily, and the two of them had time to disarm him and slap cuffs over his wrists. For good measure, one of them punched him in the stomach. He doubled over and spat on their shoes.

  “You’re taking blood money,” he told them.

  “Money’s money,” the white cop said.

  “You’re too young to be cynical,” Al said.

  “I’m too old to be poor,” answered the Latino.

  “Are you taking me inside or are you going to shoot me here?” He was pretty sure they weren’t going to shoot him in the open. If that’s what they planned, they could have done that already.

  Al took a deep breath, winced at the pain in his gut, and prayed Noir would stay out of this. Or, if she didn’t, that she was smarter about attacking the enemy this time.

  “We’re not killers. We’re just delivery boys,” the Latino cop said.

  “I don’t see the damned difference.”

  That earned him another gut punch. He nearly blew chunks all over them. That would have been no great loss save they’d probably hit him again. Not so fun.

  They half-pulled, half-dragged him toward the warehouse. He let them. He’d wanted proof of what was going on. Now he’d get it, if not the way he’d planned. Noir was out there too. She would help once there was a chance to escape.

  Unlike these dirty cops, Noir gave a damn.

  An armed guard—possibly the same guy from the Dixon warehouse—met them at the door next to the loading docks. He told the patrol officers to buzz off. They did, without a backwards glance.

  Al took careful note of their badge numbers, closing his eyes to memorize them. Taking bribes was one thing. Lots of cops did that. Al had learned to let it go. But these two had crossed a line with him. They thought they’d be protected by their badges. They’d probably even alibi each other if he brought charges. It didn’t matter. He’d get them. One way or another, these two were done.

  The guard led him down a long corridor and shoved him into a cell at the end of it. His captor left without saying a word.

  Al rested his back against the concrete wall and studied his surroundings. What he’d taken for a jail cell must have once been a secure area of the warehouse. Three sides were concrete and the third was wire mesh, including the door. It was padlocked shut. He stood up and tried to pull his blazer up over his pants. He had a spare handcuff key inside his belt. He’d hidden one there ever since a drunken night had ended up with him cuffed by the state troopers. He’d gotten away that time and laughed about it. It hadn’t been until the incident with the car on the parking garage roof that he’d given up drinking. He learned slow sometimes.

  He put his shoulder against the wall for leverage, facing the entrance, working his fingers toward the belt. He managed to twist the belt inside out, exposing the seam in which he’d hidden the key. He clenched his jaw tight to prevent letting loose a string of curses as each attempt to grab the key failed.

  It was on the tenth try that it worked. Practice makes perfect. Of course, now he had to unlock the cuffs. By the time he had contorted his arms and fingers enough to do that, he was drenched in sweat and had mouthed every curse he knew.

  But his hands were free and his snub-nose was still in his ankle holder. The patrol o
fficers should have searched him after taking away his service weapon and his radio. Corrupt and incompetent. Those idiots wouldn’t get far in life.

  He sat back down with his hands behind his back to wait for someone to come for him. All he needed was an opening.

  When a thin woman with stringy brown hair wearing a white lab coat came into view, he knew he’d hit the jackpot.

  Jill.

  Chapter Nine

  Al had said to wait for her chance, to be smart and think ahead for once. But it was all Noir could do not to attack the officers beating Al. It would have been so easy to take their guns and kill them. They would have never seen her coming.

  Instead, she popped the trunk of Al’s car while the officers dragged him toward the warehouse. She grabbed the loaded shotgun that Al had said was inside and closed the trunk as carefully as she could. She crouched to hide beside the car as the dirty cops returned. She half expected the officers to stay. She heard one make a joke. The other laughed. But they pulled out, leaving her alone.

  Noir was certain she’d never hated anyone as much as she hated those cops right now. When this is over, I’m coming for you two.

  She watched behind Al’s car for the roof guard. He looked over in her direction for a few minutes, then disappeared. Noir guessed he was making a roof circuit. She ran to the warehouse, straight for where they’d taken Al. The door was not locked. She took a deep breath, slipped inside and closed it behind her.

  It was safer for her to walk around inside without the shotgun. But it was safer for Al if she could find him and give him the shotgun. That little pistol he kept in an ankle holster would never stop Jack.

  Cursing the overhead lights in the corridor, she ran, her legs pumping, slowed only by the weight of the shotgun. When she heard voices, she skidded to a halt, set the shotgun on the floor and crept closer.

  One of the voices belonged to Al. The second one was Jill. Noir walked around the corner.

  Al stood in a makeshift cell, hands cuffed behind him. Jill stood opposite him, on the other side of the padlocked wire mesh door.

  “So why am I not dead yet?” Al asked.

  “Research subjects are hard to come by,” Jill said.

  “And here I thought you were saving me for Jack’s playtime.”

  “So you were the cop with Subject Six last night,” she said. “She gave you a very biased version of what I do.”

  Noir’s fingers itched to close around Jill’s throat. I’m not a number any longer, you sadist.

  “Well, Noir’s a bit pissed off, between the invisibility and the torture and all.”

  “Noir. Is that what she’s calling herself? How melodramatic. But then, Subject Six always was.” Jill sighed. “You don’t understand. I’m trying to cure Jack of the violence. Experimentation is necessary.”

  Al snorted. Noir smiled. She recognized that snort. She loved that snort. It reassured her that Al hadn’t been badly injured by the other cops.

  “You’re going to cure Jack of violence by having him rob banks and rip people apart?” Al asked.

  “No one else has ever been interested in curing my twin. I have to do it any way I can.”

  “Does that include taking innocent girls and torturing them?”

  “I don’t—” Jill frowned. “Oh, you mean Six.” Jill shook her head. “As I said, she’s confused and bitter. She lies. I didn’t torture her. I gave her a home and fed her and took care of her. All that I asked is that she help cure Jack.”

  “Bang-up job on that one, Doc,” Al said.

  Jill crossed her arms across her chest. “She carries a grudge. But I’m not responsible for turning her invisible. She did that on her own.”

  Such bullshit, Noir thought.

  “Yes, she just snapped her fingers, said ‘Beetlejuice’ three times, and presto, she was invisible,” Al said.

  “You are an idiot. It makes me feel less guilty about using you in experiments.”

  “I’m touched,” Al said.

  Noir wondered how to signal to him that she was there. But there was no way, not with Jill standing between them.

  She could get the shotgun and kill Jill.

  Noir’s palms itched for the weapon. She regretted ever setting it down. Here was her chance to stop Jill once and for all. She stepped back, toward the gun.

  “You really love the murdering thug, don’t you?” Al asked Jill.

  “Jack’s my twin. It is my obligation to help him,” she said in a matter-of-fact way. “He’s all the family I have. He can’t help himself. It’s my duty to take care of him. He has brainstorms. I’m going to fix those.”

  “Lady, he’s not the only one who’s crazy,” Al said.

  Jill reached into her lab coat and pulled out the key and a handgun. Noir froze. Was she going to kill Al after all?

  Jill turned in Noir’s direction. Noir dropped to the floor. Jill fired, and Noir heard the bullet whiz over her head. “I knew you were there, Six. I’m not stupid. You seem to be everywhere this cop is. Tell me where you are or I’ll shoot him.” Jill pivoted on her heel and pointed the gun at Al. She smiled. “I know you don’t want him hurt. You were always a sucker for the helpless.”

  Noir tackled Jill at the knees. The gun fired wildly. She and Jill hit the floor together. Noir’s shoulder’s slammed into the concrete, scraping her skin raw. Jill’s hand hit hard and she lost her grip on the gun. Noir grunted, out of breath from the impact, but held tight to Jill’s leg. Jill thrashed at her, screeching.

  “Noir! Get clear!”

  She took a blow in the face from Jill’s heel and decided that was an excellent idea. She rolled away, toward Al’s cell, the concrete cold against her naked body. She scrambled to her feet. Jill was reaching for her gun. Al pointed his little handgun at Jill. “Don’t,” he said.

  Jill froze for a second, threw back her head and screamed, “Jack!”

  Al fired. Noir put her hands over her ears as the sound echoed around the high ceilings. Jill clutched her midsection and collapsed to the floor, moaning.

  Noir grabbed the keys that Jill had dropped next to Al’s cage. Her hands fumbled. Sweat poured down her back as she thought about what might happen when Jack arrived to save his sister. Opening the padlock seemed to take forever.

  Once free, Al brushed past her. A pool of blood was spreading outward from Jill’s body. He knelt beside her. “She’s alive. I need to call this in.”

  “I wish she was dead,” Noir said. “She deserves it.”

  “Yeah, no argument there, but if you’re looking for me to finish her off, you’ve got the wrong guy.”

  “That’s not what I meant,” she snapped. “Dammit, Al, we have to get out of here. Jack’s coming. He always comes to protect her. Your little gun will be like a gnat to him.”

  “I’m not leaving. We’ve got to find the hostage.”

  Noir ran to the corridor and grabbed the shotgun. Al smiled as she came back around the corner. “That’s the ticket,” he muttered.

  She handed it to Al.

  “Good thinking.” He pulled a cell phone out of Jill’s lab coat pocket. “I’m dialing 911.”

  The doctor moaned. Jill might be bleeding to death. Noir couldn’t find it in her to care.

  “Will they come? Or are they going to be like those two patrol officers?” Noir asked.

  “Calling a civilian emergency will bypass the police frequency. With a person injured, it’ll go out to the fire departments as well. We’ll have a whole party here.”

  “Good.”

  Al balled up Jill’s lab coat and pressed it against the bullet wound as he talked to the 911 operator. “No, I can’t stay on the line. One person with GSW. No, don’t just send EMTs. The scene isn’t secure. You tell them officer in distress. Call in the cavalry.” He hung up. “That’ll have to do. Let’s go find Jack.” He looked around. “Where are you, Noir?”

  “Here.” She put her hand on his shoulder.

  “Stay like that so I know. We’ll t
ake the direction Jill came from.”

  Noir heard the hum of the machines long before they turned the corner. Her method of dealing with being a laboratory experiment had been to close her eyes and pretend she was somewhere else. She’d drawn so many fictional landscapes in her mind. Sometimes she had gone so deep into that fantasy that only the prick of the needles drew her back to awful reality.

  When she came back, the first thing she inevitably heard was the hum of the machines. Just like now.

  And there had always been one other noise. Jack’s plodding, heavy steps, the slap of bare feet against the floor.

  She wanted to turn around and run before she heard that noise again. She felt she was back in that life, that she was already strapped to one of those tables, that she would never leave, that she would never escape… Her throat went dry. It took effort to continue walking.

  She squeezed Al’s shoulder tighter. She thought of the way he’d touched her, held her close, made love to her, how he’d protected her after she’d been shot. She could do this. She had to do this or someone else would suffer the way she’d suffered. Someone else might lose who they really were.

  She wasn’t a number. And she’d make sure no one else would ever be either.

  Al pushed open one side of the double doors with the barrel of his shotgun.

  The first thing that caught her attention was the row of gurneys to her right. She bit back a gasp as her eyes focused on the empty straps attached to the gurneys. She could feel that leather against her wrists and ankles, preventing her escape.

  The last one in the row was occupied by a young man, stripped naked. She thought he was dead for a second until she saw the rise and fall of his chest. He was breathing. Unconscious, but not dead.

  The missing bank teller.

  Noir wondered if the teller wished he were dead. She had, many times, while strapped down like that. But no, he’d only been here one day. Not long enough to get lost in the nightmare. It wasn’t too late for him.

  She heard someone running toward the lab. Those familiar footsteps, hard slaps of bare flesh against stone.

  “Jack’s coming!” she whispered to Al.