Out of the Darkness

by Jaime Rush

  Amy said, “You had me looking like a sex kitten. She already looks like that.”

  Petra’s blue eyes glinted with ideas. “That was for a reason. With you, I’d go light and natural, autumn colors. Cinnamon would look incredible on those luscious lips of yours. Do you realize women get injections to have a mouth like that?”

  “I hate my mouth.” Still, the compliment felt good.

  Even though Zoe didn’t want anyone messing with her look, something about the exchange felt sisterly. Her stepfather had a daughter about Zoe’s age, but they couldn’t have been more different: preacher’s daughter versus possessed Goth girl, smackdown at eleven.

  Standing at the display of condoms, Amy held up one of the boxes. “Is ribbed really better? Lubed or not? Good grief, how many varieties can there be?”

  Petra looked at her watch. “Ten more minutes.” They were limiting their outings to less than half an hour.

  Zoe said, “I need to buy pistachio ice cream for Rand.”

  Both Petra and Amy wrinkled their noses. “Pistachio ice cream?”

  “Yeah, I know. It’s green.”

  Amy pushed the shopping cart down the aisle. “Petra, I’m surprised you’re not all over the clothing section.”

  Petra wrinkled her nose even more at that. “I don’t buy my clothes at stores that also sell tampons and lawn mowers.” She was, of course, way overdressed.

  Amy laughed. “Ah hah, you’re a shopping snob.”

  “You bet I am. The next time I’m out, I’m hitting the boutiques. I need a clothing fix.”

  A few minutes later they headed out to the car, all watching the parking lot.

  Zoe said, “As much as I detest being locked up in the tomb, being out and paranoid isn’t much better.”

  Amy tossed the bags into the backseat of the Camry, her thoughts obviously in a dark place if her frown was any indication. “I know Cyrus wouldn’t have betrayed me. He died trying to protect me. He gave me this car. So what happened with Jerryl?”

  Zoe slid into the backseat as the other two got into the front. “You said there was another guy who tried to break into your dream.”

  “Gladstone, the guy Eric killed. That last time, he was screaming, trying to come through, but Cyrus didn’t let him.”

  Zoe ran a finger over her ring tattoo. “What was Gladstone saying? Could you hear?”

  “No. It was hard to hear with all the racket.”

  “Oh, my God,” Petra said, looking back at Zoe, whose expression mirrored hers. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

  Zoe nodded. “It wasn’t Cyrus,” they both said simultaneously.

  Amy had been about to put the car into reverse. She stopped and looked at them. “Why didn’t I think of that? You’re right. Yes, you have to be right. It was Gladstone who told me that. He wanted us to contact Jerryl, knowing he was the enemy. And that was Cyrus screaming in the background, trying to warn me.” She pressed her forehead against the steering wheel.

  “We’d better go,” Petra said.

  Amy jerked into action, pulling out. A few minutes later she grabbed her cell phone and dialed a number. “Hey, Oz.”

  On the speaker they could hear him say, “Amy! It’s always such a relief to hear from you. At least I know you’re alive. You should call in every day so I don’t worry.”

  Petra gave Zoe an amused look and mouthed, “Yes, Mom.”

  “Oz, I need a favor.”

  “Great. Fantastic. I’ve been working out, you know. I’ve got biceps when I flex real hard.”

  Even Amy had to tighten her mouth to keep from laughing. “That’s good, Oz. This won’t require any feats of strength or speed, though. Could you find someone who can change the look of Lucas’s car? Dumb it down, maybe even put a different model’s nameplate on it so it doesn’t have the word Barracuda anywhere?”

  “I know an IT guy who dabbles in car restoration.”

  “Perfect. Don’t let on that we’re trying to hide it from the cops, though. Raises too many questions.”

  “To which I have no answers anyway.” His consternation over that hardened those words.

  “For your own good. Give him some story, like a stalker ex-girlfriend.”

  “I’ll take care of it.”

  “We’ll reimburse you for any expense.”

  “Don’t worry about that. What else do I have to spend my money on? And that means we’ll have another rendezvous, right?”

  “Ah, yeah, I suppose we will.”

  “I’m on it. I’ll let you know when it’s ready.”

  Amy’s voice softened with affection. “Thanks, Oz.”

  “Anything for you.”

  As soon as she disconnected, Zoe said, “He has such a crush on you. I could see it that day we got Orn’ry.”

  Amy sighed. “I know. And in a weird way, his semi-involvement in our mess might be good for him, might punch up his confidence.”

  They were within a few minutes of the garage when Petra gasped. “I’ve got the feeling!”

  “Oh, hell.” Amy turned and sped away in the opposite direction.

  Zoe looked from one to the other. “What feeling? What’s ‘the feeling’?”

  Petra wrung her hands in nervous flutters. “One of them is remote-viewing us. It’s a creepy feeling, like a shiver that starts at your neck and crawls down your spine.”

  “Yeah, I feel it, too,” Zoe said. “Like I did when we were at hospice.”

  Amy asked, “It’s not Eric?”

  Petra shook her head. “No, and…I’m pretty sure it’s not the guy who remote-viewed us when we were getting this car. It’s a different kind of energy. Not as heavy.”

  “Maybe it’s the girl we saw at the asylum.”

  “Put up the shield,” Amy said.

  “Wait. I want to try something.” Petra looked up. “Whoever you are, you’re on the wrong side! Darkwell is lying to you. You lost your mom or dad when you were young. They were working for the government or were part of some program that no one can tell you anything about. They died because of that program, and now you’re working for the man behind it. He only wants to use you. All we want is the truth. Don’t you want to know why you have the abilities you do? Don’t you want to be on the right side?”

  She squeezed her eyes shut. “Golden shield, golden shield.” Seconds later, she opened her eyes. “She—or he—is gone. Let’s go.”

  After returning to the tomb and putting away the supplies, all three went downstairs. Petra waved her hand in front of her nose. “Whew-ee, it reeks of testosterone in here!”

  Eric let out a groan as he pulled down on the lat bar. “You better believe it, baby.”

  Zoe found her gaze slipping to Rand. His bare chest was slick with sweat, and the light played off his piercings. Unlike a lot of tattoo artists, she wasn’t big into body piercing, but on Rand…well, they were growing on her.

  Like a kid, he asked, “Did you get my ice cream?”

  “Of course.”

  Petra said, “One of them remote-viewed us.” That got their attention, and she went on. “I think it might be the girl. I told her about the people she was working for. Maybe it’ll make her start to question things.”

  Eric released the weight stack. “Good idea. But I’m still going to blow them away the second I lay eyes on them. Girl or guy. Once an enemy, always an enemy.”

  The thought of killing someone made Zoe shudder. To change the subject, she asked, “Have we found out any more about Robbins?” Kidnapping a man wasn’t quite as bad as talking about killing a person.

  Lucas shook his head. “We’ve been all over the Internet. We’re going to have to go to Bethesda and see if we can spot his car. It’s a shot in the dark, but it’s all we have.”

  She carried her bag to her room—and dropped it. As she stared at the far wall, her hand went to her mouth. It felt as though her heart was filling with helium.

  Rand had painted a collage of monsters: Dracula, Frankenstein, the Mumm
y. Her open sketchbook lay on her bed. He had painted not only monsters, but her monsters. And he’d done a freaking ill job.

  Sensing him standing in the doorway, she turned and without even thinking, threw her arms around him. “I love you!” She blinked and backed away. “I mean…not love you love you, but…” She turned back to the wall, her eyes glistening. “I love it. I totally love it.”

  He shrugged. “Gave me something to do.”

  He wasn’t going to admit he’d done it to be sweet, and maybe he hadn’t. She walked closer to the wall, now smelling the scent of paint, and touched the lines. “This is mad cool.”

  “Whoa.”

  She turned to find everyone crammed into the door opening, having heard her exclamation.

  Rand shrugged. “I do a little painting.”

  She noticed he hadn’t signed it. He was only willing to reveal a tiny bit of his secret to make her room more like home. Still, that he’d done that much nearly made her cry.

  “It’s cool,” Eric said. “Almost as cool as naked women.”

  Lucas assessed it. “Nice work. Excellent shading, good dimension…how did you do this?”

  “Aerosol.”

  Lucas’s eyes bugged out. “As in spray paint?”

  Rand’s pride filled his smile. “Yep.”

  Lucas looked at the wall with renewed appreciation. “That is amazing. You can’t even tell.”

  Petra didn’t share their enthusiasm. “Yikes, I wouldn’t want to wake up with those looking at me.”

  Zoe grinned. “What better to keep the monsters away than monsters of my own? I told Rand I missed my monsters; I’ve got movie posters all over my apartment. So he gave me back my monsters.”

  She saw Lucas give Rand a curious smile, but she was too touched to think about it.

  Eric turned to Rand. “I got a serious art question for you: can you do hot chicks?”

  CHAPTER 20

  W

  ith her hands wrapped around a hot mug of coffee, Zoe dared to check the computer the next morning and see if there was any follow-up to her arrest warrant. She was touched to see that RJ had sworn he’d never seen Zoe so much as drink, much less smoke, and how could a woman who’d just raised thousands of dollars for a playground deal drugs? Evidence was evidence, the article seemed to sum up. If the drugs weren’t hers, why wasn’t she coming forward to proclaim her innocence? Why was she, in fact, hiding?

  She leaned back in the chair and swiveled around. The small room was crammed with a desk, a rack of car batteries, and security monitors that showed the entrances to the shelter. One of the three entrances was obsolete, though a camera still showed a blank wall. One came in from Lucas’s art gallery upstairs and led to his and Amy’s bedroom. The frame showed a bookcase similar to the one that hid the stairwell in the living area. The third frame showed the interior of the shed, which was barely discernible in the dark.

  Zoe sighed and was about to log out of the newspaper’s site when she caught something about her stepfather. The Reverend Harry Withers would be hosting an old-fashioned revival in Baltimore that weekend. Her throat went dry. She knew her mother would be there, the faithful preacher’s wife at his side. Zoe also knew she had to take the opportunity to talk to her. Not only to tell her that she wasn’t a drug dealer but that she wasn’t evil, either. She couldn’t tell her all of the truth, but a little bit of it. Maybe she could find out more about what made her father “evil.”

  She joined the others in the living area. The place was growing on her, which was scary. The vivid colors on the walls made her feel at home, though some of the wild artwork didn’t. Lucas was painting, deep in his own thoughts. Amy was sitting on the floor watching him, lost in dark thoughts of her own. Petra was lying on the couch, her feet up on the back, thumbing through a fashion catalog. Zoe’s gaze always seemed to seek out Rand, and if that wasn’t annoying enough, he usually caught her.

  “My mom is going to be at a huge revival in Baltimore this weekend. I need to talk to her.”

  Eric shook his head. “Not safe.”

  Rand mirrored Eric’s motion. “No way.”

  Remembering what Rand had said to Lucas, she said, “I’m not asking permission, other than to use the car. It’s a perfect opportunity. There are going to be hundreds of people around. I’ll slip in the back. If Darkwell knows anything about me, he knows I’m not close to my mother and stepfamily. And I’m not exactly a churchgoer. I’ll be careful.”

  Amy said, “Oz left a voice mail for me. He’s already taken the ’Cuda to his friend, who doesn’t think it’ll take long to ‘de-glam it,’ as he put it. Maybe we’ll have two cars by then.”

  Petra gave her a knowing smile. “Or five. He’s so eager to please you.”

  Lucas looked up, one eyebrow arched. “Should I be worried? Will I have to duel this guy for your hand?”

  Amy’s smile was tinged with sadness. “I’ve got eyes for no one but you.”

  Eric nodded to Zoe’s hand. “What’s that?”

  She twisted her hand to give him a better look. “I’m experimenting.” She sat down next to Rand on the sofa. “Wondering what it’d look like as a tattoo.” She explained the significance of the Offspring eye.

  “I want one.” Eric lifted his sleeve and flexed his biceps. “Right here.”

  Eric’s enthusiasm made her smile.

  Amy leaned over and studied the drawing. “I like it. It could be our symbol.”

  Rand shook his head. “Not me. I don’t do tattoos.”

  Zoe would bet it was because he didn’t want something that tied him into a group. Just like he hadn’t painted his walls; he wasn’t going to be there long. “When I get to Baltimore, I’ll pop into my shop and get my equipment. It’ll fit in my pocket.” Before they could protest, she added, “I haven’t been to my shop in almost two weeks. They won’t expect me to go there now. It’ll be in and out.”

  The thought of seeing her shop, even for a few seconds, caused a bittersweet ache in the pit of her stomach. Would she ever be there, working at her station, kidding with RJ and Rachael, again?

  Eric propped his feet on the coffee table with a thud. “On the upside, every time we encounter these schmucks, we have a chance to kill one. As long as we’re prepared. We’ve got another field trip to make. When Petra and I went to my…father’s house to find out more about what our mother was involved in before she died, we found a letter in a box of her stuff.” He pulled a wrinkled letter from his pocket. “It’s from Calvin Hobson, President of the SPP, Society for Psychic Phenomena, in Washington, D.C., to my father.” He cleared his throat. “ Dear Mr. Aruda, We have just learned of Camilla’s death, and we wish to extend our sincerest condolences. She was very special to us here at SPP and will not be forgotten. We were never comfortable with her involvement in the program and continue to have our suspicions. If you wish to discuss any of this, please contact me at the above number.’”

  Clearly Amy and Lucas already knew about it, but they listened nonetheless.

  Eric said, “Our father denied knowing anything about it, and as it turns out, he’s not my father or anyone who will help us. But I’ve got this, and we can find out more from this SPP, I bet. I looked them up. I was stunned to find that they’re still around.” His voice got a little softer. “And maybe I can find out who my father really is. My mother apparently met someone in the program. Lucas’s mother, too. Hey, Lucas, we might be related.”

  Amy had gotten pale and quiet. It was obviously a sensitive subject.

  Eric waved the letter in the air. “We don’t know exactly how the SPP plays into this, but it sounds like our mom was involved with them, and they didn’t like her being in the program.”

  Petra’s eyes widened. “Which must be BLUE EYES.”

  Eric nodded. “And if the SPP didn’t approve, they’re obviously not connected to the CIA or Darkwell. I poked around their Web site early this morning. I’m going to call and make an appointment.”

  Lucas plante
d his hands on his knees. “We have to figure out if it’s worth the risk. They weren’t involved twenty years ago. But what about now?”

  Amy said, “Maybe they’ll know what our parents were given. I agree with Eric, amazingly enough. It’s worth the risk. And while we’re out, we’ll go to Bethesda and see if we can find Robbins.”

  Gerard Darkwell walked the prison hall to the visitor room, with its stark gray walls and floor. He wrinkled his nose at the smell of old coffee. Nobody visited Sayre Andrus, not his adoptive parents, who’d ended up testifying against him and were now dead, not a wife or girlfriend. Sayre was destined to spend the rest of his life in prison, and, according to the warden, he seemed strangely peaceful about his prospects. That was only one of the things that unnerved the warden, the guards, and even the other prisoners.

  Sayre was brought in by a guard who, despite his six-foot-five frame, tried his best not to touch the prisoner. They were spooked, even though Sayre’s hands and ankles were cuffed.

  Gerard hid his smile at seeing Sayre. He was exactly as he’d imagined him, except for his eyes. They reminded him of a goat’s eyes, flat and shallow. His dark hair was cropped short.

  Sayre eyed him curiously as he took a seat. The guard closed the door but remained within sight, watching through the window.

  Sayre rattled the handcuffs he wore, and his smile was sharp. “I can’t wait to see what the CIA wants from little ol’ me.” His Southern accent put a twang to his words.

  “I’m Gerard Darkwell, Director of Science and Technology. I’m working on a classified program that uses the extrasensory skills of gifted individuals. I suspect you have skills. I want you to do some work for me.”

  Sayre rolled his head back and let out a laugh so loud, the guard stepped back in to see what was going on. Gerard shook his head—no assistance necessary—and waited for him to close the door again.

  “You find that amusing. I’m glad.”

  Sayre met his eyes, a sarcastic smile still on his lips. “You won’t be when I tell you that you can kiss my sweet ass. I don’t work for anyone, especially the government.”