"Fine."
It took us a while to pass anything resembling civilization, but we finally found a parking lot full of cars outside a truck stop. I stayed in the car while Drake made the switch. My first night of freedom and I was already an outlaw. Great.
We kept driving.
I dozed on and off, in pain and sickened by what had happened. Ana's dead face flashed every time I closed my eyes. We drove for hours that first night, stopping for gas and food as infrequently as possible. I stayed in the car, not wanting to alarm anyone with my bloody clothes.
Ten hours of driving exhausted us both. I was surprised we'd stayed on the road so long, after the adrenaline crash from our escape. We pulled into a small motel. I wasn't even sure where we were; everything looked the same after so many miles.
Drake checked us in with cash from the bag.
As soon as we walked into the room, I threw my clothes into a trash bag and jumped into the shower, scrubbing until my skin turned red and raw. I couldn't wash away the memories, but at least I could wash away the blood.
As I washed, Shakespeare's Macbeth ran through my mind:
Out, damn'd spot! out, I say!—One; two: why, then
'tis time to do't.—Hell is murky.—Fie, my lord, fie, a soldier, and
afeard? What need we fear who knows it, when none can call our
pow'r to accompt?—Yet who would have thought the old man to
have had so much blood in him?
So much blood, indeed. Blood spilled for me.
Drake took a shower after me. He came out wearing the sweats and t-shirt Ana had left him. I sat on the double bed in my own sweats and t-shirt and looked through the backpack. The bandaging on my arm slipped. I couldn't get it to stay.
He came over and rewrapped it. We didn't speak. I couldn't even look him in the eyes, but the graze of his skin against mine sent shivers through my body.
We each had clothes to sleep in, undergarments for a few days, and one pair of pants with a few different shirts and sweaters.
I booted up the MacBook and found the memory stick, while he counted the cash.
"Sam, this is $20,000. How could she even have this much money?"
"They probably paid her, right? I mean, they thought they controlled her with her kids, so why wouldn't they pay her? Or maybe she found a way to steal from them. Even better."
I shut up, remembering that I wasn't speaking to him.
It was a lot of money, but without jobs, or IDs, or anything, it wouldn't last long. Still, my eyes filled with tears. Ana had given us so much, and paid for it with her life. And we'd left her there to rot.
The baby kicked, and Drake noticed me holding my stomach.
He sat next to me and swallowed hard. "Can I feel her?"
I nodded and put his large hand over the bump, and she gave another good, strong kick.
He smiled and looked in my eyes. "We got out. We saved her. And we will make it through this. Together. I'm so sorry about what I did, Sam. I swear I'll never do that to you again, but I couldn't let you die!"
Tears rolled off my cheek and onto my shirt. He wiped one away with his finger. I was furious with him, but why? If I could use these powers for what I considered the greater good, why couldn't he? He probably did save our lives. We had to get out of there, and he was right: I would have done the same thing to him if it meant saving him and our baby.
Part of me wanted to stay angry, the part that feared the loss of control, but I was too tired to keep fighting with the only person in the world on my side. I leaned toward him, to put my head on his shoulder, but hesitated. Each moment suspended itself in blown glass—so beautiful, so fragile.
As if sensing my uncertainty, he wrapped his arms around me, and I melted into him as though my body had been made for his.
"Don't ever do it again," I said into his t-shirt.
"I won't, I swear." He held my eyes with his. His breath touched my face and smelled like the mint of his toothpaste.
In that moment, as if sensing my desperate need, or maybe reflecting his own, he leaned into me.
Fire grew between us and poured through us.
The blaze reached our lips as they brushed together, gently at first, soft and tender. Then his tongue split my lips. The taste of his mouth, my fingers digging into his back, his hand sliding into my hair as he pulled me closer—with the ebb and flow of this newfound passion, a craving flared to life deep within my body, something new and forbidden. He traced a line of kisses on my cheek.
I willed time to stop and suspend us in this moment forever, like those blown glass memories.
It didn't feel like a first touch or first kiss, but rather like we'd been apart for too many lifetimes and had finally found each other again. My body recognized his intimately. We fell into each other naturally and without hesitation.
I finally felt home. Free. Safe. Loved.
The computer beeped, reminding us we had work to do.
Drake pushed it away. "It can wait until morning. Now, you need rest, and I need to hold you."
How could I argue when all I wanted in the world was to be wrapped in his arms all night long?
I thought my tears had gone for good, but that night I cried myself to sleep again. This time, my tears fell on the strong shoulders of the man I loved. He held me all night, avoiding my injured shoulder. Words were still too much for us after all the shock, but the contact kept me from falling apart.
***
We woke early the next morning and looked through the computer files, which contained compelling evidence—addresses, pictures, secret documents. Everything we'd need to expose Rent-A-Kid.
Drake grabbed the cell phone and made a call. "Brad, this is Drake. Call me back at this number. It's urgent. I'm in trouble." He hung up.
Money and clothes covered our bed. I thought of Ana and.... Oh God, I have to tell Lucy and Luke.
I didn't want to, not after everything. My head split in half.
But we had to.
Drake agreed, and we made the link.
And I had the worst conversation of my life.
Their mother's loss shocked and saddened Lucy and Luke. They'd lost more than just a person they'd only talked to once. They'd lost an idea, a dream of how life might have been. They also feared for their future, understandably so. I had to get them out and protect my baby. I didn't know how, but I would find a way.
We dressed, packed up, and hit the road early, still worried about being followed, or reported, or killed. Minor things.
I took the medicine Ana had left me, and told my baby to be good and stay put for a while longer.
We drove and drove and drove, at last finding a used car lot. We ditched Ana's car and bought the cheapest vehicle that looked like it could go the distance. It didn't help that Drake had no ID. It did help that this guy didn't want to report everything to Uncle Sam. They shook on a deal, and we left with our new ride.
We aimed to get to California by that night, and head straight to his apartment.
I leaned back in my seat and admired Drake as he drove. "What do you think Brad will say about all this?"
"Honestly, I don't know. He's always looked for the next great story, but really has been stuck at the newspaper equivalent of middle management. He gets some local stuff, but nothing hard-hitting. He wants to make his mark, but so far he's just barely making rent."
"Maybe this will be the big break he needs."
"If anyone listens. I have a feeling it won't be that easy to bring down this organization."
Yeah, a group like this didn't cave just because some kids showed up with a memory stick and a story. Still, someone had to listen, to see the pieces that didn't add up and want to investigate further.
If his friend couldn't get our story out into the world, we'd find another way. I had sketches, sensitive information on top government officials, and no identity. That proved something, didn't it? I didn't just make myself disappear. Someone, somewhere, would have to
believe us.
Drake squeezed my hand. I turned on the radio and shuffled through the many Christian and country music stations, settling on a Dixie Chicks song. I sang along and tried to forget about my life for a while.
Drake glanced at me. "You have a beautiful voice."
"Thank you." I hesitated. "Drake, I know what I want to name our baby." The thought had been percolating in the back of my mind since the night before, but I wasn't ready to speak about it. Until now.
"I'm pretty sure I don't need to read your mind to know what it is."
"Ana." We said her name together. As a prayer. An offering. A promise.
"Sam, I want you to know... I love you. I know I didn't say it last night, but I do. I always will."
"I love you too."
Right on cue, Lonestar's "Amazed" came on.
"I WANNA SPEND THE REST OF MY LIFE... WITH YOU BY MY SIDE... FOREVER AND EVER...."
I sang, he listened, and we went to meet our future together.
---END OF BOOK ONE---
Forbidden Fire
(Book 2 of The Forbidden Trilogy)
by
Kimberly Kinrade
Chapter 26 – Sam
The warmth of Drake's lips against mine sent butterflies spiraling through my stomach. His strong arms tightened around me just enough to make me feel safe without stealing all the air from my lungs. I rested my cheek against his chest and breathed in his unique scent—part campfire, part wind. Everything about that moment in our bed felt right... until the butterflies in my stomach turned into angry bees bent on killing me.
My legs itched as if unseen bugs crawled through them; I couldn't keep them still. Hot and cold, my body fluctuated between extremes as I opened my mouth to speak, but my throat refused to comply.
"Drake!" My mind called to him even as my body pushed away from his.
He held onto me and refused to let me crawl into my own misery. "Sam, what's wrong?"
I tried to speak out loud, but couldn't. "I don't know. Something is happening to me. Something isn't... right."
Drops of sweat trickled down my forehead and stung my eyes. I shivered and clutched at Drake. My hands wrapped around his taut muscles as if trying to absorb their strength.
His hand dropped to my swollen belly, and he switched to our mind link. 'Is it our baby?'
My mental whimper made me cringe, but I couldn't help it. My body had been invaded by aliens. I wanted to tear my skin off and crawl out of myself. A ball of anxiety grew in my chest, smothering any of the peace I had felt just moments before. "It's not my stomach, it's everywhere. Like a poison or... Ahhhh!"
The pain that ripped through me swallowed up all thoughts of words. If I hadn't already been lying in bed with Drake, I would have crashed to the floor. A vague need clawed at me—some unnamable craving that made no sense to my mind, but which captured the needs of my body.
Some thing was missing, and its absence sent my nervous system into chaos.
Drake covered me with a blanket, and pressed his cool hand against my head as he brushed long, sweaty strands of dark hair from my eyes. "I'm really freaking out here, Sam. You're pale, clammy, and you can't stop shaking. I don't know what to do. I think I should take you to the hospital." The skin around his blue eyes tightened in worry.
I spoke through chattering teeth. "You can't. Baby. Experiments. They might take me away."
I couldn't summon enough clarity to tell him why this was such a bad idea. I'd spent my whole life in a lie. The people who'd raised me as a paranormal spy, for hire to the rich and powerful, had given me everything any girl would ever need to live comfortably. Then they burned my artwork, killed my mentor, impregnated me against my will and held me prisoner.
If it hadn't been for Drake, I'd have never gotten out. As it was, two people died trying to help me escape.
Drake and I met telepathically, after they kidnapped and imprisoned him at my school. We fell in love before ever meeting in person. Through him, I had learned not only to read minds, but to control them—a gift I often wished I could give back. But it had saved us.
We were free, but hunted.
We couldn't go to a hospital, where we might be reported or discovered. It was too risky.
I didn't realize he'd gone until he came back with a cool washcloth and pressed it against my forehead. "If you aren't feeling better soon, we’re going to the doctor’s. I'll do whatever it takes to keep you safe and get you out of there, if it comes to that." He towered over me, his spiky blond hair disheveled from our recent make-out session that now seemed so long ago.
My body shuddered, and not just because of my symptoms. Whatever it takes could mean a lot of things to Drake, including—but not limited to—physical violence and total mind control. The darkness of his paranormal talents scared me and seduced me in equal measure.
***
Time held no meaning as my mind darted in and out of memories. Past and present collided to create a full-sensory collage out of my life: playing hide-n-seek with my best friends Luke—who always cheated by walking through walls when he was about to be caught—and Lucy; Mr. Caldrin critiquing my sketches and offering ideas to make them more realistic; targets changing faces, blending into the same person, their thoughts rippling through my mind like waves. Through it all, a demon stalked me from the shadows of my memories, never quite showing its face, but crouching, waiting.
And then I dreamed....
***
The needle plunges into me, tearing through skin in one small, sharp poke. Yellow fluid drains from the vial and into my veins.
I float outside my body, above a younger version of myself sitting on the hospital bed. My brown hair is longer, a child's cut with blunted bangs and pigtails. My blue eyes look brighter, more innocent. "Why do I have to get this all the time? What does it do?"
Dr. Sato also looks younger, though very old to my child-self, her Asian features smooth and pronounced, her white coat and stilted accent forever the same. "You not get it all the time. Only every three months. It vitamin. It make you strong and healthy. Make you feel good."
I struggle to slip into her thoughts, but they're all mumbo-jumbo, the sounds foreign and harsh to my young mind. I haven't yet learned many other languages, just one or two common ones. Her Japanese dialect is not common, and no amount of mind reading will change the fact that I cannot understand her words. Trying only gives me a headache.
Then it's okay. I don't mind not knowing, not hearing her thoughts. All is well.
Time slips forward and again I'm in a hospital bed, only this time I'm older... and unconscious. My legs are spread. My sleeping form does not move.
A male doctor I've never seen sticks something inside me—
I scream. And scream. And scream.
No one hears.
***
"Sam. Sam!"
Fingers dug into my shoulders, pulling me from my dream fragments. Ghostly hands clawed at my mind and tried to carry me back into my nightmares, but Drake's hold on me didn't waver. His mind probed mine; my consciousness had no choice but to wake up and take control.
My throat cracked when I spoke. "How long have I been asleep?"
He sat at the edge of the bed and kissed my head. "A few hours."
"I feel worse than before I slept, like I ran a marathon with a hangover."
The right side of his lips curved up in his signature half grin. "You've never had a hangover, so how would you know?"
I smirked. "I don't have to get drunk to know the aftermath doesn't feel so great. Intelligent people learn lessons without having to make all the mistakes. Unlike some, who think that chugging beer through—what do you call those things? Beer hats?—is a genius thing to do."
"That's the last time I tell you any of my secrets."
"Uh... I can read your mind."
"True. Speaking of reading minds... yours was screaming at me while you slept. Then you actually screamed. What were you dreaming, Hon?"
Only bits
and pieces of my dream remained–the terror, the invasiveness–but no real details. Something nudged at the back of my memory, though, an important piece of the puzzle that my subconscious mind needed me to remember.
"I think I'm hungry. Or thirsty. Or... something." What? What did I need to feel better? I resisted the urge to scratch the skin off my restless legs, but it was so hard. Everything ached. Everything had a wrongness about it.
Drake left to get me food. I forced myself out of our Queen-sized bed and made my way to the bathroom we shared with Brad. Sharing a bathroom with two men was not the highlight of my new life, but we were lucky Brad had a place for us at all. He'd even kept all of Drake's stuff when he left their old apartment and rented this one. I would forever be grateful to Brad for standing by Drake the way he had all these years.
I wiped down the sink with a piece of toilet paper, erasing evidence of men who brushed their teeth like children, and splashed warm water over my face. My symptoms were all so muddled—pregnancy and illness duking it out for supremacy in my miserable body. Dizziness. Restless legs. Nausea. Anxiety. Shakiness. Those all seemed new. Well, not the nausea, but what had once been run-of-the-mill had turned into a Code Red vomit fest. Not normal.
Time for Google.
When Drake returned with a turkey sandwich, a salad and water, I sat propped-up in bed with the laptop on my legs.
My search results revealed a lot of random diagnoses. Adrenal insufficiency. Environmental allergy. Hormone imbalance—very likely, all things considered. Unknown pathogen—thank you, Google, that's very useful.
The one diagnosis that kept popping up again and again was the one that scared me the most, and made the most sense.
Drug withdrawal.
Chapter 27 – Drake
St. Michael's Catholic Church occupied the entire corner of Naples and Coeur D'Alene Avenue in a quaint neighborhood of Venice, where kids played ball on the street and women sold Tamales from their pushcarts on the corner. Typical Southern California.
The church had been Drake's fifth foster family's contribution to his life. He didn't remember the family all that much—they all blurred together after awhile—but he did remember this church and Father Patrick. It had been too long since Drake visited the old priest. Now he needed him more than ever.
The Forbidden Trilogy Page 18
