by R S Penney
Baring his teeth with a hiss, Jack shook his head. “I think I'll go grab a coffee,” he said, stepping away from the wall. “Do either of you want anything? Tea? Water? Maybe something to eat?”
“No thank you,” Crystal said softly.
Arthur echoed her sentiment.
Once he was alone, Jack breathed out a soft sigh of relief. His father had a way of putting him on edge, and the man was particularly bad lately. Not that Jack could blame him. Getting shot in the leg would leave anyone feeling angry with the world. He needed to find Pennfield and end this quickly.
Of course, even with the resources of the Justice Keepers at his disposal, that task was proving to be exceptionally difficult. So far as anyone could tell, the man had just up and disappeared. Forensic specialists had covered every inch of that parking lot without uncovering a spec of evidence. Just an empty car. What he really needed was Anna. The two of them were almost unstoppable when they worked together, but she had problems of her own right now.
He rounded a corner into a hallway where bright lights shone down on the polished floor tiles and the plain white walls were each marked with a single blue stripe at chest-height. Doors to his right looked into hospital rooms, some allowing the sounds of TV shows to spill out.
In the distance, he spotted a nurse in green scrubs making her way toward the end of the corridor, but other than that, there was no one around. Not that he minded. Right then, he really didn't want to deal with people.
Jack started up the corridor with hands his clasped behind himself, head hanging in shame. “What are you doing to locate the man who did this to me?” he said, imitating his father. “As if you'd do much better.”
Someone came around the corner behind him. He saw it through his connection to Summer: the blurry image of a man in a suit who stood imperiously with one fist on his hip. “The lengths I have to go to just to get your attention.”
That voice!
Jack spun around.
Wesley Pennfield stood tall and proud in the middle of the corridor, grinning like a cat who had decided that he could play with a mouse before finishing the job. “Honestly, Jack, it's really quite a nuisance.”
Hissing air through his teeth, Jack shut his eyes tight. “You have got to be kidding me,” he growled, striding toward the other man. “All the effort I go through just to find you, and you dump yourself in my lap?”
Wesley came forward at an even pace, smiling down at himself. “You really must forgive me,” he said, shaking his head. “I don't have the months it would take to wait for you to find me on your own.”
“Is that right?”
“Come now, Jack, surely you know how this works,” he went on. “I kill you. Lenai comes after me. Then I kill her and regain my power.”
Crossing his arms over his chest, Jack lifted his chin to hold the other man's gaze. “Got a whole lot of confidence there, Sparky,” he said. “But I seem to remember kicking your ass the last time we met.”
A sly grin split Pennfield's face in in two, and his soft chuckle was more menacing than the angry roar of a mob enforcer with a gun. “You got lucky four years ago, boy,” he said. “Luck won't save you this time.”
“No, it won't,” Jack admitted. “But I've been working out.”
A moment of tense silence passed with agonizing slowness, a cold, nerve-racking moment where Pennfield closed the distance between them. Jack was suddenly aware of the pounding in his own chest, but it wasn't the thought of losing that made sweat prickle on his brow. Pennfield had come from behind him, from the direction where his parents were. What exactly did the man mean when he spoke of the lengths he would go just to get Jack's attention?
Wesley leaned in close with a triumphant giggle, light glinting off the lenses of his glasses. “Would you care to test your-”
Jack punched him square in the nose.
The other man fell over backwards, catching himself with both hands and twisting to land on his side. He hooked one foot around the back of Jack's leg and pulled. Oh, no! No! No!
Toppling over backwards, Jack slammed his hands down on the floor. He rose into a handstand, then flipped upright just in time to see his opponent pop up right in front of him, moving forward with menacing grace.
Wesley jumped and kicked out.
A blow to the stomach drove the wind from Jack's lungs, but it was Bent Gravity that did the real damage. Jack went flying backward through the corridor, yanked away by unseen forces.
He landed a moment later with a hand pressed to his chest, bent over and breathing hard. Being hit by a Bending always left him feeling disoriented. He shook the cobwebs from his head.
Pennfield strode through the corridor with his teeth bared in a snarl, his pale cheeks flushed to a deep red. It was rare for him to show such emotion; usually the man was ice. Maybe that's the hole in his armour, Jack thought as his opponent drew near.
Wesley threw a punch.
Crouching down, Jack brought one hand up to strike the man's wrist and deflect the blow. He used the other to drive a fierce punch into Wesley's chest, one that would break ribs in anyone not carrying a symbiont. The other man stumbled.
Jack spun to deliver a back-hand blow, his fist whirling around to clip Wesley on the chin. Knocked senseless by the impact, the evil bastard went stumbling sideways until his shoulder hit the wall.
In a heartbeat, Jack was running past him. Somewhere in his mind, a small voice was whispering that he needed to finish this now, but panic drowned out every last scrap of rational thought. What had Pennfield done to his parents? He had to know, had to see! With a little help from Summer, he was able to keep an eye on his opponent.
Wesley was doubled over with arms folded, shaking from the pain of his injuries. He tossed his head about, growling. “This isn't over, boy,” he said, standing up straight. “Not even close to over.”
He drew a pistol from his belt.
Jack whirled around to find the other man facing him with one hand thrust out to point a gun at him. “You really think I would be unprepared?” Pennfield asked, cocking his head to one side.
On instinct, Jack brought his hands up and called on Summer's aid. The air before him began to ripple, and through it, he saw a hallway that wobbled like Jell-O that had been struck by a spoon.
CRACK!
A bullet appeared right in front of him, then turned, following the curve of bent space-time to the wall on his right. It struck the plaster with enough force to send chips flying.
Though it brought him pain – little pinpricks like the vicious stings of a thousand angry hornets – Jack changed the shape of his Bending. He formed a bubble, immersing himself in a sphere of accelerated time.
Through its rippling surface, he saw a blurred image of the hallway. Pennfield stood there with the pistol in one hand. Jack dropped to a crouch, getting himself out of the line of fire. He needed time to think, to plan. You don't have time.
His skin was already burning, a warning that Summer was being taxed to her limits, and his temples were starting to throb. The instant he dropped this bubble, Wesley would start shooting. He couldn't dodge forever. Have to get the gun away.
But how?
Jack pulled his wallet from his blue jeans pocket, holding it tightly his right hand. This would be a long shot, but it was all he had. With a nod of thanks for Summer, he let the bubble collapse.
CRACK!
A bullet whizzed over his head. Jack threw himself forward. He somersaulted over the linoleum tiles, then came up on one knee, tossing the wallet. It tumbled end over end through the air.
Wesley adjusted his aim just in time for the wallet to hit his gun and knock it right out of his grip. The pistol went flying from his hand, leaving a very pissed off Pennfield snarling in the hallway.
Jack ran forward.
He jumped and snap-kicked, aiming for Wesley's face. The other man leaned back and caught his ankle before he made contact. The next thing he knew, he was flying up until his head hit t
he ceiling. Painfully.
He landed in time to see the fuzzy image of a man in a gray suit standing before him. Wesley swiped at his head.
Ducking low, Jack felt the blow pass right over him. He slammed both fists into the other man's chest, staggering him. A high-pitched wheeze filled the air as Pennfield tried to regain his balance.
Jack jumped.
He spun in mid-air, kicking out behind himself to drive a foot into the other man's face. Those expensive glasses were mangled on impact. Wesley cried out, covering his eyes with one hand as he stumbled away.
“You've gotten better at this, boy,” he said, doubling over in obvious pain. Only then did Jack notice the blood leaking through the cracks between his fingers. Some of those lens shards must have found their way into Wesley's eyes. Time to end this. The world would be a better place without Pennfield in it.
Jack started forward.
Wesley turned and ran into the nearest room, cradling his face the whole time. No you don't! There was no way this bastard was getting away this time. With a symbiont of his own, the man would still be able to see.
Jack slipped through the door just in time to see his opponent charge headlong for the sixth-story window. Wesley leaped and crashed through the glass without a moment's hesitation. Well that was a bonehead move! A Keeper might be able to slow his descent enough to avoid doing any serious damage to his body – might; it was quite a drop – but it would leave his symbiont exhausted.
Contact with Summer allowed him to perceive what he could only describe as a warping sensation. Normally, when somebody employed Bent Gravity, he was too busy trying to stay alive to focus on the impressions coming from his Nassai.
He reached the window in time to see Pennfield running across the hospital parking lot, making is way toward a black limousine that was parked near the street. Jesus Christ! How was the man still on his feet?
Pennfield opened the limo's door and scrambled into the back seat. A moment later, the vehicle lurched into motion, making its way toward the exit.
Footsteps behind him.
In his mind's eye, Jack saw security guards fill the doorway. “Sir, are you all right?” one asked in gruff voice. “We heard gunshots! Was anyone injured? Do you know who discharged the weapon?”
Jack closed his eyes, breathing deeply to calm himself. “Yes, I do,” he answered. “Post guards at every entrance to the hospital. I've got some bad news for you.”
“He was here!”
Arthur wheeled his chair across the length of the hospital room, grinding his teeth as he tried to work out his frustration. “The man who shot me was here? He walked right into this hospital without incident?”
Jack sat on the bed, hunched over with his elbows on his knees, his face buried in his hands. “That's the gist of it, yeah,” he groaned. “I scared him off for now, but he's not done tormenting us.”
If not for his ability to perceive the world around him through spatial awareness, he would have jumped when his mother came up behind him to lay a hand on his shoulder. Adrenaline was still pumping through his system. Now wasn't exactly a good time to get inside his personal space.
Arthur stared into the distance with teeth bared, shaking his head. “You're not going after him?” he asked, glancing at Jack. “There's a murderer running around this city, and you're not even going to try to apprehend him?”
Jack looked up with sweat coating his face, blinking slowly. “I've already alerted the other Keepers,” he said. “I just pushed Summer pretty hard, which means if I go after him, there's a good chance I'll pass out.”
Arthur grunted.
Tossing his head back, Jack squinted at the ceiling. “Let's hear it, Dad,” he hissed, getting to his feet. “The standard 'Be a man' speech. Come on. Tell me to go risk my life on some stupid vendetta.”
To his surprise, Arthur only shot a glance in his direction and frowned. “I wouldn't suggest that you put your life at risk,” he muttered. “Forgive me, Jack, but I don't exactly know how all this Keeper stuff works.”
Arthur spun his chair with more deftness than you would expect from a man who had lived his whole life on two legs. “I thought that you people healed quickly,” he said, wheeling himself over to the wall. “I didn't know you had limits.”
“Well, we do.”
Crystal's hand on the back of his head, gently stroking his hair, was almost enough to take the edge off his emotions. Almost. “Half a dozen Keepers can bring Wesley in just fine,” Jack went on. “It doesn't really matter who does it so long as someone does. But I'll be going to join them as soon as I can.”
“Right,” Arthur said. “So, what now?”
“Now, we make sure you're somewhere Pennfield can't get to you.”
Chapter 22
The limo moved forward, but Wesley was barely aware of the motion, barely aware of anything except the pain and the fatigue. Hunter had taxed him to his limits. Clearly he had underestimated the boy.
He sat doubled over with his face in his hands, the seat belt digging into his belly. He didn't care. “Damn it!” Wesley whispered. “So close! I was so close!”
He should have killed the boy's family – that had been his intended goal – but sheer dumb luck had allowed him to catch sight of young Hunter moving through the hallways, and he didn't really care about two middle-aged nobodies. With Hunter right in front of him, he had been unable to pass up an opportunity to end this.
Against his better judgment, Wesley prodded the eye that had been cut when Hunter shattered his glasses. The wound was gone. The Drethen he carried had been able to heal it, but in so doing, it had taxed itself even further. Unlike a Nassai, his symbiont was little more than a seething mass of emotion, responsive only to his commands, but that meant he had to be responsible for how hard he pushed the creature. A Nassai could refuse to craft a Bending if it was too exhausted. Drethen would push themselves until they died of fatigue, taking their hosts with them.
The wail of a siren assaulted him.
He turned, glancing out the back window.
His vision was blurry, but he didn't need crisp lines to recognize the flashing blue and red lights coming up behind him. Police cruisers. In truth, he had expected as much. Hunter had called for back-up.
Clenching his teeth with a hiss, Wesley shook his head. “How far are we from the warehouse?” he called out to the driver. “Can we escape before these wretched little plebs surround us?”
“Five minutes, sir,” Gilbert replied.
Too long.
Wesley shut his eyes. Their sting reminded him of his humiliation. “Then I will deal with them myself,” he said softly. “Keep focused on the road.”
Wesley reached up and tapped a button that caused the sun roof to slide open. Cool air came streaming in, ripping the warmth from his body, and he had a brief glimpse of clouds drifting across the darkening sky. With a grunt, he retrieved a pistol from the small compartment. It was always good to keep a few extra weapons around when you went out seeking vengeance.
He undid his seat-belt.
Once again, he called upon his Drethen, and the sting in his skin that had faded to a mild prickle flared up again with renewed vigor. He crafted a Bending that would reverse gravity's pull on his body.
He shot upward through the gap, then tucked his knees into his chest and flipped to land crouched on the roof of the limousine. His head swiveled as he tried to get a sense of where he was.
They were on a busy street with skyscrapers on either side, heading eastward under a sky that was quickly fading to a deep twilight blue. Ahead of him, cars were moving at a good pace, but one of the stoplights in the distance turned yellow as he glanced around.
He looked back over his shoulder.
Framed against the light of the setting sun, two police cruisers drove side-by-side, taking up both lanes of this road. A third was following from behind, and there were no other cars for at least half a block. No one wanted to get anywhere near this.
; Wesley twisted on the roof.
Though his vision was blurred, he used the innate spatial awareness that came from Bonding a symbiont to guide his aim. It wasn't hard to get a sense of where each car was in relation to himself and then to estimate where each driver would be inside each car. Aim for the cruiser on his left.
He fired.
A hole appeared in the windshield, and the driver inside jerked backward as a bullet pierced his skull. Instantly, the car went out of control, veering off to his left and crashing through the front window of a convenience store. The sound it made on impact was both painful and deliciously satisfying.
The second cop car was speeding up.
Wesley shot its front tire.
With a dreadful screech, the car spun sideways, creating a barricade that blocked both lanes. The third cruiser coming up behind it was unable to stop in time. It smashed right into the side of the immobilized cop car, knocking the thing over.
Wesley smiled a gleeful little smile, then shook his head in dismay. “Pitiful,” he said to himself. “You fools really think you can best a man who has been touched by the Old Ones? By divinity itself?”
The limo was slowing.
The cars in front of him had been smart enough to clear a lane, but it still required a bit of careful maneuvering. Wesley slipped back through the sun roof and took his seat once again. No sense exposing himself to danger.
A pleased smile blossomed, and before he knew it, he was covering his mouth and trembling with soft laughter. “Irony,” he muttered into his own palm. “Victory is always best when seasoned with it.”
Six months ago, he had sent that fool Leo to Earth to sow chaos and distrust. Now, with a few quick twitches of his index finger, he had completed the work started by that pathetic little thug.
More sirens.
Wesley shut his eyes and let out a soft sigh. “Drive carefully,” he said. “Make sure that we're spotted pulling into the warehouse. I want Hunter to know where to find me.”
