by Jaime Rush
Petra nodded, understanding and yet not. “If what Cyrus said is true, none of us knows what we’re capable of. That’s scary. I don’t know what I’d do if I started hearing voices or seeing things that weren’t there.” Her gaze went to Amy’s collarbone, and she got up and walked over. It wasn’t until Amy felt her tug gently on the necklace that she understood what Petra had seen. “Lucas’s necklace.”
“He lost it at my apartment when they…when they got him.”
Pain crossed Petra’s face at that thought, but it lessened when she looked at the cross. “This was his mom’s. She was always afraid of things. Of evil. She bought him a necklace when he was just a baby. It was lost when our house burnt down, when we were in high school. His mother’s necklace was in a fire-safe box with all of our important papers. Now he wears hers.” She bit her lip. “Wore it.”
Amy unclasped the necklace and handed it to Petra. Her voice was tight when she said, “Take it. If you hadn’t come back for me, you might still have his car.”
Petra wrapped her fingers around the cross even as Amy’s fingers involuntarily tightened. But she didn’t pull it out of Amy’s grasp. With a sigh, she released it. “He loves you. It should be yours.”
Amy met her eyes, seeing pain but also acceptance, and smiled. “You’re all right.”
Petra smiled, too. “So are you.”
Did Lucas love her? Amy wondered. Look what he had done for her all these years. How he made love to her. She’d always felt unlovable, inadequate. But she was lovable. She was enough for Lucas.
She put the necklace back on, breathing an inward sigh of relief that she didn’t have to part with it, then pulled the covers over her. “You can leave when I’m in REM. When my eyeballs start twitching and stuff.” When Petra nodded, she said, “Thanks,” and rolled onto her back. A minute later she heard soft popping sounds. Opening her eyes, she saw Petra slouched in the chair, cracking her knuckles.
“Oh, sorry. Nervous habit.” Petra tucked her hands beneath her thighs.
Amy closed her eyes again and let fatigue sweep her into darkness.
Memories crowded into her mind: images of running from Buick, the fear, hiding in the truck. Then nonsensical thoughts floated through. That was when the voices started, when her mind was open…vulnerable. She heard the whispers and felt her instinctual urge to push them back. Her body stiffened, but not her mind.
Several voices spoke:
I don’t want…
She’s not going to……climbing up the sheer wall…
Most didn’t make any sense. She waited for her name.
Amy. A man.
She fought her urge to shut them out. Yes.
Thank God. It’s Cyrus.
That almost knocked her right out of her state. Cyrus! Are you…
Dead. His words came in pieces, the way Lucas came in when he was fighting the drugs. …you’re…channel…how Lucas connects…
Other voices tried to intrude. One carried an ominous feeling: Kill you…
Cyrus! I’ve got the car. Thank you. Was she actually talking to the dead? To Cyrus? She had so many questions, about her father, about who she was. But there was only one she had to have the answer to right now: Please tell me where Lucas is.
Don’t…
I know you don’t understand, but I have to rescue him.
Silence for a few moments. Had she lost him? Then: Old insane asylum…not far…
She took the tumble from a hypnagogic to a dreamless state. She had no control over that transition. She floated in some kind of void filled with swirling blue smoke. Before she could steep in frustration over losing her connection with Cyrus, she heard her name again. She knew that voice, and her heart rate jumped as she turned to see Lucas. In a flash he was holding her, kissing her, his hands on her face. “Amy, you’re scaring the hell out of me.”
“Ditto,” she said between kisses.
They both parted and said at the same time, “Are you all right?”
He searched her eyes, worry in his. “You’re at the bomb shelter.”
She heard the emotion in her voice when she said, “They killed Cyrus. He was trying to warn me to go into hiding and his own people shot him.”
“I’m sorry, love.” He cradled her face, his pain clearly visible on his face.
“Don’t blame yourself. I needed to know what was going on. Who I am. They would have come after me sometime.”
“What happened this morning?”
“Petra and I went to get the car Cyrus arranged for me. They’re looking for your car in relation to Eric. And…I’m sorry, but we had to leave it behind.”
He shook his head. His image wobbled. “Don’t worry about the car. I only care about you.” He ran his thumb over her lower lip. “All three of you. Stay away from me.” He leaned down into her face. “You promised you weren’t trying to rescue me.”
She nodded.
“Your job is to keep yourself safe. The Devil—that’s what I call him—promised not to hurt you if I cooperate. But only as long as you’re not trying anything funny.”
“I’m not trying anything funny. What about you? You seem better.” Every now and then, though, his image warped or his voice warbled.
“I had a reaction to the Booster—that’s what they call it—that they’re giving me. I’m better now. But…I don’t know how much longer I’ll be able to connect to you. Stay with Eric and Petra until the heat dies down. You can trust them. Eric’s a bit…”
“Off the wall,” she finished as he tried to think of a nice way to put it. “He worries me sometimes.” Her heart hurt as she took him in, looking so beautiful, the waves of his hair brushing the shoulders of his black shirt, his blue-gray eyes soft with longing and regret. She placed her hands on either side of his face. “It’s you I’m scared to death for.”
“Dying is better than being here. I’m not afraid to die. The worst part is losing our connection.”
The thought of hearing his voice, along with Cyrus’s, was as frightening as the voices themselves. “Lucas…”
They came together at the same time, crushing each other’s mouths, trying to swallow the other up. They took the pleasure of undressing each other the old-fashioned way, stripping off clothing one piece at a time. The feeling that this would be the last time permeated every kiss, every touch. He wasn’t even strong enough to bring scenery with him. She held back tears and focused only on him, still with her, still loving her.
“Lucas, I love you.”
He closed his eyes. “Don’t.” He kissed her with such fierceness she knew he was only trying to protect her by withholding the words.
He laid her down and then sat facing her with his legs flanking her. He pulled her legs up over his shoulders and slid into her. He teased her by barely filling her. He kissed her feet and her ankles and all the way down her thighs. He trailed his tongue in the indent behind her knees, sending such pleasure through her she couldn’t believe it was coming from a nonsexual part of her body. His movements pushed his penis deeper, sliding in and out just enough to remind her of the agony and ecstasy of the tease.
His fingers played in her folds, sliding in her wetness, sending shivers through her. Oh, yes, he was teasing her mercilessly, and dammit all, she loved it. His biceps flexed with each movement. She drank in his beautiful body as she was connected to it in such an intimate way. She felt the orgasm bloom without warning, enveloping her in heat. Her toes curled and her hands clutched his knees and felt the coarse hairs that sparsely covered his legs. He was watching her come with a look of satisfaction, of pleasure, and before she could register that, he took hold of her hips and started slowly moving her against him.
He moved in rhythm and then increased the intensity until she could barely stand it. He never took his eyes from her. She felt the growing pressure beginning at her core and sweeping her body. Then his orgasm hit and he tilted his head back and let it take him with a soft moan of surrender. She watched him, the way his neck
muscles stretched and his eyes squeezed shut so his eyelashes brushed his skin. His fingers tightened on her legs. Slowly he came back, in degrees, his eyes fluttering open to find her smiling.
She held out her hands, and somehow he knew she wanted him to pull her up so they were still connected, yet face-to-face. Her eyes drank him in, his cheekbones, the straight line of his nose, his chin…every feature that she wanted to touch now and tomorrow and next month and next year. And she couldn’t. She might never actually touch him. The agony of that washed away the joy she’d been feeling at watching him experience their joining.
Before he could see that agony on her face, she hugged him hard, crushing her breasts against him. To no avail; the sobs that rose up inside her burst out. He ran his fingers through her hair, holding her tighter yet, whispering, “Please, don’t cry.”
She didn’t want him to see her like this, had tried so hard to stop the tears. He pulled her back, though, and wiped away her tears with his fingers. She hoped she didn’t have snot coming out of her nose in dreams. No, she’d be beautiful, just as he always saw her. She tried to speak, but heaving gulps came out instead.
He held her close again, stroking her back. “Oh, baby, don’t cry, please don’t cry. You’re killing me.” She heard the kind of pain she was feeling in those last words.
How could she live without him? She had the terrible feeling that this was the last time she’d see him if…if they didn’t get him out of there. She pulled back and gripped his face with her hands. Her words came out between gulps. “Lucas…fight. Fight to stay alive. For me. For us. Don’t…you…dare…give…up.”
He turned, as though he’d heard a sound, then faced her. “Goodbye, Amy.”
“No, don’t say goodbye!”
He was gone.
She still felt his arms around her even as the emptiness tore through her. The tears were real, the sobbing was real…and as she woke, the arms around her were real, too.
Not Lucas.
Petra held her, arms awkwardly around her shoulders as she sat in bed next to her. For a moment Amy felt too wrecked to even be embarrassed. For a moment. Then she grabbed the sheet and wiped her face, snot, tears, and all.
Petra was looking at her strangely, a mix of curiosity and sympathy. “You were with Lucas, weren’t you?”
Amy sucked in a deep breath to clear away the emotion. She could only nod at first.
“I drifted off to sleep for a while,” Petra said. “When I woke, I could see your eyes moving beneath your eyelids and I was about to go.”
What had she looked like? Her body had experienced everything that her dream body had. She was still throbbing, flushed, spent. “And?”
“The look on your face. You were…so in love. It’s like those paintings, isn’t it? He’s making love to you.”
Amy nodded. “What am I doing in my sleep?”
“Just arching a little, sighing. Then just as I was really going to leave, you started crying.”
Movement at the door caught her eye. Eric was just outside, watching them. “Is he better, then?”
“He tells me he’s fine, but I don’t believe him. He said he had a reaction to the Booster. And they’re going to keep giving it to him.” Tears threatened again. “They’re going to keep giving it to him until he dies.” She took a deep breath, getting her act together. “He’s in an old insane asylum.” She wrapped her arms around herself at the thought.
Eric’s eyes widened. “Lucas told you that?”
“No, Cyrus did. The voices, they’re…people who have died. Cyrus was one of them. He said the asylum was near, but I don’t know if he was going to tell me it was near here or near something else before I lost the connection.”
Eric said, “We’ll research old asylums. Once we find some likely candidates, I’ll remote view them. Let’s eat. Then I’ll check it out.”
Amy knew she was going to be holding her breath all through dinner. Time was running out.
Gerard Darkwell woke Lucas from whatever had spiked his brain waves. “What’s happening?”
Lucas blinked awake, his eyes hazy, his voice weak. “Amy. She said someone was tracking her down. She’s only trying to get safe…not rescuing me.”
He looked like hell. They’d almost lost him, and he was still fading.
“She has no powers, so she’s not valuable to us,” Gerard said. “As long as she stays away from here and any other Offspring, she’s perfectly safe.”
Lucas struggled to sit up on the bed. “I hope to hell you’re a man of honor.” He looked doubtful.
Gerard knew that Lucas would be gone by the time Amy was apprehended. At least at this rate, he thought. Damn Steele had failed to catch two women. Two women, for God’s sake. He hadn’t even come up on Mr. Pyro yet.
“One more mission, Lucas, and your work is done. This one is very important. Very sensitive.” Gerard tacked a photograph on the corkboard, followed by a map. “And easy. We know exactly where the target is. Right here, where the red arrow is. Study the information; I’ll have to take it with me.”
After a minute Lucas said, “Got it.”
Gerard removed the two papers and walked to the door. “Don’t see this as doing it for me. You’re doing it for your country.”
He walked out, where Peterson was waiting. “I’ll need you here tomorrow at five in the morning,” he said to him. “We’ll put him in deprivation mode, have him complete one last mission, and then we’ll give him the fourth injection.”
“Are you sure, sir? That will finish him.”
“I’m sure. He’s not strong enough to put up a big fight, but bring one of the guards with you just in case.”
Peterson nodded, showing no emotion at all. Like a good soldier.
Having Lucas around was becoming more of a liability than an asset, particularly with his connection to Amy Shane. What if she were caught or shot? He didn’t trust an enraged Lucas, even in a weakened state. Look what Eric Aruda had done.
No, better to finish him off sooner than later.
Gerard walked back to Robbins’s office, but he wasn’t there. He located him in the doctor’s lounge with the orange walls, sitting on one of the gray sofas watching CNN.
“Breaking news,” Robbins said. “They just found out that Muhammed Muzaham is dead in a London flat. Died in his sleep. Without him, the cell turned on each other. There have been fourteen arrests.”
Gerard smiled. “I heard. Lucas’s second mission was a success. You have to admit it’s satisfying to have that kind of impact on terrorism.”
Robbins reluctantly nodded. “We saved lives.”
Maybe there was hope for Robbins yet. “Hundreds of lives, and think of the terror we’ve prevented people feeling. We’re doing a good thing here.” Now he would seal Robbins’s loyalty with a bit of information he’d just learned. “This was the group that bombed the house where your cousin was hiding out in Afghanistan. These are the people who killed him.”
Robbins stood. “You’re sure?”
“We’re sure.”
He lowered his head for a moment.
“Feels good, doesn’t it?”
Robbins curled his hands into fists. “Yeah, it does.”
“Back to the problem at hand. We’re still having trouble locating the Rogues’ hideout. They’ve either got a block on it or maybe it’s near an energy or magnetic field. I could torture Lucas for the information, but I know he’d never give them away and I need him for other things. Any luck on your end?”
Robbins stood. “I’ve looked up their families’ properties going back three generations. Now I’m working on friends, but that’s a short list.”
“We’ll find them. They’re obviously in the area. Go home, celebrate our victory. It’s yours, too, you know.”
Robbins tilted his head. “I notice you call Lucas by his first name.”
“I address him by his first name to sound…friendlier. It just becomes habit to refer to him that way. Don’t think I’m
getting soft on him.” He narrowed his eyes. “He’s the enemy. The enemy is just a machine, Robbins. A machine we’re going to shut down.”
CHAPTER 20
It was 5:30 A.M. Amy, Eric, and Petra had spent most of the night researching insane asylums, unearthing article after article, and consulting maps. Or rather, Eric and Petra did, because Amy sat next to the map feeling left out. Sitting at the computer, Eric read off story after story on military hospitals and sanatoriums, and Petra marked them on the map. Occasionally Amy was able to find the location before Petra did.
Amy said, “I can get around the Internet fast.” Faster, she didn’t say. She wiggled her fingers.
“If I need something typed up,” Eric replied, “I’ll let you know.”
She grimaced in frustration. “You type with your pointer fingers. Tap. Tap. Tap.”
“Shut, shut, shut up.” He rolled his neck. “Petra, give me one of your miraculous massages. My shoulders are killing me.”
She stood and rubbed his shoulders as he kept trolling the Internet.
Amy held her tongue on Eric’s smart-assed remark. “Miraculous massage?”
Petra shrugged. “Everyone says my massages cure them. Headaches, shoulder aches, that kind of thing.”
“Her hands get warm, too,” he said.
“I even thought about training to become a massage therapist, but the thought of touching strangers”—she shuddered—“I couldn’t do it.”
“Why not?”
“It’s literally uncomfortable, like the time I pushed a wire out of the way and it was still charged. It went through my body. That’s how it feels when I touch someone.” That bothered her on a deeper level. “Maybe I’m just cold or…uncuddly.”
Amy thought of her porcupine poster.
Eric made groaning noises as he rolled his neck under Petra’s touch. “Much better.”
“Good, get back to work,” Amy said.
He tilted the chair at a precarious angle. “Here’s something. It’s dated eight years ago. The Merrill State Mental Hospital was a civilian asylum and then was used for military personnel suffering from things like post-traumatic stress disorder. Funding disappeared and the place was closed. Apparently it needs a lot of work or should be demolished altogether.”
