The Acceptance

by L. L. Foster

  And besides, neither Luther nor Morty would like it.

  “Mort claims you’re a friend, yet you take every opportunity to belittle him. You say unforgivable things, and you—”

  “It’s okay, Ann,” Morty said.

  “No, it is not!”

  No, it wasn’t, Gaby agreed. But in the middle of processing all of Ann’s accusations, absorbing them and sorting them out, tragedy struck Gaby.

  The force of it bowed her back and left her blind.

  In the periphery, she heard Ann say, “Oh no, what is it? What’s wrong with her?”

  Luther grumbled, “Not again,” while Mort said, “Get out of her way.”

  Seeing flames licking the sky, hearing an agonized scream, Gaby groped for the chair back and braced herself so she wouldn’t collapse under the force of the image. Inside her head, the prediction blackened, the screams escalated.

  It was too much. It was happening now.

  Pushing away the hands that reached for her, Gaby stumbled from the room. If the others followed, well, she couldn’t stop them—just as she couldn’t stem the tide of physical torment flooding the nerve sensors of her body.

  The staggering pain stole her oxygen, contorted her features, and left her teeth clenched in anguish.

  “Gaby!”

  Aware of Luther trying to grasp her as she fled, Gaby sucked in harsh, too shallow breaths. But this was too critical, too excruciating, to be contained by mortal means. The efficacious pain rendered her oblivious to all but her purpose.

  Once outside, her senses honed and Gaby broke into a full-out run. She didn’t have far to go. At the end of the block, consuming an old clapboard building, a red-hot conflagration dug fingers of heat into the sky with crimson terror.

  Gaby heard the screams again, but they were silent screams trapped in her head, for her torment only.

  That burning building held someone captive.

  Gaby charged forward—and Luther tackled her from the side. They hit the pavement hard, him atop her; his considerable weight held her down.

  Twisting her face around to see him, she met his resolve.

  Pain eased, retracting its razor-sharp talons from her muscles and flesh, and at the same time, relieving her motivation to salvage an innocent life. Luther’s physical contiguity blunted what should have been an inviolable defense.

  Her seldom summoned humanity reared up, urging her to free herself from Luther’s spell. Even with the demons gone, she knew what she had to do.

  “Let me go, Luther.”

  He knotted a hand in her hair. “God damn you, Gaby, do you want to die? You can not go in there.”

  Closing her eyes and calming her mind against the residue of piercing cries, Gaby gathered her strength. When she opened them, Luther must have seen the purpose in her face.

  He hardened himself and tightened his hold. “The building is empty.”

  Sadly, she shook her head. “No, Luther, it’s not.”

  Agony darkened his gaze. His fingers left her hair to pet her jaw, frantic to convince her. “The fire fighters will be here any minute. You can hear the sirens. If you just wait—”

  “They’ll be too late.”

  “Damn you,” he said, struggling with himself. “You can’t know that.”

  “But I do.” Compulsion burned her worse than any flames could. “I need to go. And you need to let me.”

  He shook his head. “Please don’t do this.”

  “I have no choice.” And with that simple but veracious statement, Gaby dislodged Luther’s six-foot, three-inch powerful frame with remarkable adroitness. He landed on his back, stunned, and before he could recover, she’d crossed the street and broke through the crackling, blistering front of the building.

  Indifferent to the smoke filling her lungs and the heat singeing her hair, Gaby wended her way through the front room. The curtains of swirling, belching smoke left her blind, but she knew right where to find the fallen body. She felt with her hands—and encountered human flesh.

  The body was small, delicate—like Ann.

  Knowing each second to be precious, Gaby levered her over her shoulder and ran hell-bent for escape from the engulfing fire. Wood splintered behind her. A wall crashed in.

  Up ahead, a glowing egress shone among the smoke and flames. Without faltering, she sought escape.

  The second she broke from the burning building and into the fresh air, Gaby collapsed to her knees, gladly relinquishing her load to waiting firemen. They moved with an economy of take-charge action. Hoses sprayed. Men issued orders. Noise escalated.

  Please, she thought, watching as firemen carried an unconscious woman to an ambulance. Please let me have been in time.

  Just then, she heard the woman cough—and then Luther was there, pulling her to her feet, urging her toward the open door of a cruiser. Mort hovered nearby, at the same time fretting and talking with Ann.

  The pandemonium kept Gaby confused for a short time. Someone pressed an oxygen mask to her face while someone else did a cursory exam.

  Shoving away the helping hands, Gaby lifted the mask. “The woman. . . . ?” Simple words left her choking, coughing and ready to throw up.

  Luther stepped in front of the white-clothed man. “She wasn’t burned, but she inhaled a lot of smoke. She’s on her way to the hospital.” With infinite care, he threaded his fingers through her charred hair.

  “Was I in time?”

  The fingers briefly clenched. “I don’t know. We’ll find out soon.”

  The paramedic spoke. “She should go to the hospital, too.”

  Gaby freaked. “Fuck that. I’m fine.” Shoving aside the oxygen mask and knocking the paramedic away, she started to leave. Her reaction would only cause more alarm, but her astronomical fear of medical treatment kept her unable to temper herself.

  “Gaby—”

  “I said no.” She started walking, intent on leaving the scene before some damned do-gooder tried to strap her to a gurney.

  The way she’d seen Father strapped down.

  Cancer had stolen his thoughts, his personality, and left behind a stranger who required restraints.

  Gaby gasped, and choked again.

  Luther stepped in front of her. “Fine,” he said before she could draw back a fist. “You say you’re okay, then you’re okay. I believe you.”

  Her chest hurt, and only part of it was from the smoke and excitement. “Do you?”

  As black as a thundercloud, he dismissed the paramedic by saying to him, “We’re actually on our way to the hospital to see a friend.” His domineering attention swung back to Gaby. “If she’s not breathing easy when we get there, I’ll have her checked.”

  Holding up both hands, the paramedic said, “Not what I’d recommend, but suit yourself.”

  Shaken, feeling like a fool, Gaby closed her eyes and inhaled cautiously. “Thanks.”

  “I need you to sit. I need you to stay.”

  Her eyes snapped open again. “I am not your fucking pet.”

  His left eye twitched. “Unless you want to explain what drove you to go into that building, I need to see what happened here. But I can’t do that if I don’t know you’re safe and waiting for me to finish.”

  Looking beyond him, Gaby saw Mort and Ann watching. “I’m not explaining shit.”

  Luther remained silent, and damn it, she felt guilty. But she couldn’t explain. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

  “Fine. I’ll wait. But you could work a little on your verbal skills. Your idea of a request sucks.” Stomping despite her enervated state, Gaby left him growling and snarling, and went to Ann and Mort.

  Mort stepped toward her. “God Almighty, Gaby. Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine.” She pointed to a less-crowded section of sidewalk. “I’ll be waiting over there for Luther. You know, if he looks for me or anything.”

  Ann touched Mort’s arm. “Go with her. I’ll see what I can do about crowd control.”

  Still in her robe, ba
refoot and hair loose, Ann took charge like an army sergeant. Wasted in mind and spirit, Gaby watched her, and admired her forceful manner and deep blue aura. “You’ve got a live one, Mort.”

  “I know. She’s something, huh?”

  “Her aura tells me that she’s doing just what she was meant to do. That’s good. Not many people ever find their true purpose.” Together, Mort and Gaby went to the curb and sank down on their butts.

  Chewing her bottom lip, Gaby did her best to keep any further thoughts of Father at bay.

  Mort’s hand slipped into hers. “That was pretty damned scary.”

  Looking first at his hand, then his sincere face, Gaby frowned. “What?”

  “Running into a burning building? It’s not what most people would ever do. In fact, I don’t know anyone else who’d do it.”

  “I didn’t have a choice.”

  “I know that. But have you thought about how you’re going to explain it to Luther? You know he’s going to ask how you knew a body was in there.”

  “I know.” After what had happened with Bliss, he was already suspicious of her. But hell, it wasn’t like she could ignore the plea of the innocent, whether Luther Cross liked it or not.

  “That’s not what’s worrying you, is it?”

  “No.” She could deal with Luther. Somehow.

  But images, memories, kept crowding in, suffocating her. Hurting her.

  “Gaby?”

  Her eyes burned, so Gaby used her free hand to rub them. “I just . . . anything to do with hospitals and ambulances and all that . . .”

  “Oh.” His fingers squeezed hers. “You’re reminded of the guy who raised you?”

  “Father didn’t raise me.” The state had raised her—and they’d done a shitty job of it. “I didn’t even meet him until I was seventeen.” And then her life, her entire world, had changed.

  Someone approached with water and a wet cloth. Mort thanked them and accepted the items for Gaby.

  After a big swig of water that helped a little, she wiped her face. Soot covered her clothes, her hair and skin.

  Her thoughts.

  She stared off at nothing in particular. “I didn’t know him long enough, but he was the closest thing to family that I had.”

  Quietly, Mort said, “Take another drink. It’ll help take the sting out of your throat.”

  “Thanks.”

  As she guzzled the water, Mort cleared his throat. “What Ann said . . .”

  “Yeah.” She set the jug aside. “She’s right.” A trickle of water ran down her chin and dropped onto her chest. That felt good, too, cooling, so Gaby upended the jug and doused her head and shoulders. “I am a bitch, Mort. We both know it.”

  “You are not. It’s just that Ann’s defensive of me.”

  “She cares for you.” Using the cloth again, Gaby cleaned her face the best she could—but there was only so much she could do to put off the inevitable. She owed Mort an apology. “I’m sorry.”

  “Gaby, don’t.”

  “Ann hit it dead-on. I have been cruel.” She snorted at herself. “Hell, I’m usually cruel.”

  “You’re a paladin. You save people.”

  “Fucking hero worship.” Some things never changed. “Stow it or I’ll puke, okay? I’m an asshole and that’s all there is to it. You deserve better.”

  “Okay, so you can be abrasive.” In a show of camaraderie, Mort nudged her with his shoulder. He was teasing, friendly. “You are the best, and I’m proud to call you my friend.”

  Damn. How had she gotten so blessed? Gaby sat there, numb and hurt and horribly afraid—for things she might lose, things she hadn’t known were hers.

  Caring could be a real bitch.

  Ann strode up, then sat down beside her. “Mort, give us a second, okay?”

  “Sure thing, honey.” He stood without another word and walked away.

  “He minds well.”

  “Don’t start, Gaby.”

  “Sorry.” Wondering what Ann wanted, dreading it a little, Gaby waited.

  Ann put her elbows on her knees and clasped her hands. Sunlight gilded her fair hair, fighting with the dulling effects of smoke. She looked like a smudged angel, like Luther’s counterpart.

  But she loved Mort. Gaby could see that. She doubted Ann or Mort knew it yet, but they were meant to be together.

  Strange. But kind of nice.

  Ann let out a long breath. “Okay, so you’re the weirdest, scariest, and most capable person I’ve ever come across.”

  Well, she hadn’t expected that. Closing her burning eyes, Gaby tried to meter her breaths.

  “You’re also the bravest.”

  Rasping past the numbing effects of memories and excess sentiment, Gaby said, “Bravery has shit to do with it.”

  “Modest, too.”

  Oh God. A woman could only take so much. Gaby reclined against the hot pavement and draped the damp cloth over her face.

  Ann wasn’t deterred.

  “You didn’t even know the woman in that building, did you, Gaby?”

  Hell, she hadn’t known for sure it was a woman until they’d reached the outdoors. “No.”

  “But you ran into that blaze anyway.”

  Gaby shrugged. It was her duty. She’d been told to go, so she went. Not that Ann would understand.

  “You’d have gone in for Mort—or me.”

  If God told her to . . . No. She wouldn’t play games with herself. Not anymore. Luther’s presence had somehow counteracted God’s command—and still, she had to go.

  If someone, especially someone she knew, was at risk, and she could help, then it wouldn’t matter what God had to say about it.

  Tears burned her eyes and clogged her throat. “Fucking smoke.” Using the cloth, she swiped her eyes.

  “Gaby?”

  “Yeah.” Sitting up, she tossed the cloth to the side. “I’d have gone in for you. Happy?”

  “I’d say I’m more enlightened than happy. But we’re getting there.”

  “Dandy.”

  Ann laughed, but quickly sobered. “How did you know?”

  Shit, shit, shit. Playing dumb, Gaby asked, “Know what?”

  “That she was in there?”

  Here we go again. “I heard her.” Looking Ann dead in the eyes, Gaby asked, “Didn’t you?”

  “I didn’t hear anything.”

  “Huh. I guess I’ve got exceptional hearing.”

  Not the least bit fooled, Ann nodded. “I guess so.” She patted Gaby’s knee. “It’s definitely time for me to get that shower. Take care of yourself, okay?”

  “I always do.”

  Ann no sooner left, giving Gaby some respite, than a shadow fell over her. She knew it was Luther, and she wasn’t in the mood for his complaints. “Not now.”

  He knelt down in front of her and took her hands. “We’re sharing, remember?”

  His mood had changed. Again. He shifted tempers quicker than a teenage girl on her period. Right now, he was in comfort mode, and Gaby didn’t know if she could take it. Her throat felt raw, her eyes scratchy.

  Camouflaging her loss of composure, she replied with acrimony. “How could I forget?”

  His big hand cuddled the side of her face. “I have a bad feeling—”

  “Then your feelings are dead-on, cop, because, yeah, it’s related.”

  Luther cursed quietly under his breath. “Are you certain?”

  That’s it? He wouldn’t question her beyond that one request for affirmation? Wonder of wonders.

  Gaby nodded, and that seemed to galvanize Luther into action. He went to the officer in charge of taking names from the crowd, and issued new orders.

  It wouldn’t do him any good.

  The person responsible had already skipped away, gone before the flames took hold, leaving Gaby with a duty that superseded his capture.

  Clever mastermind? Or sick sadist bent on any form of destruction?

  More would happen. A lot more.

  Until the d
egenerate fiend got his hands on a woman to torment, he’d wreak havoc in every other way imaginable.

  He needed a hooker.

  Perhaps it was time for Gaby to take up a new profession.

  Utilizing infinite care, Oren stowed the syringes in a small case. If they thought the mayhem would end with one measly fire—a fire that hadn’t even killed the bitch he’d stowed inside the building—then they’d be in for a delightful surprise.

  Not that the woman’s life would matter much, one way or the other. He’d found her nearly insensible with drugs at a crack house. Being near there had frightened him, but also given him other ideas. Addicts were easy to manipulate. So were transients. And here, in this slum area, both were plentiful.

  Tonight, tomorrow, and the day after, he’d wreak havoc. He’d keep that fucking cop and beanpole bitch so preoccupied, they wouldn’t have time to worry about a group of worthless whores. In fact, now that he’d seen the beanpole take money from the cop, she ranked right up there with the other sluts.

  If he could get to her, he would. She’d be his first pick.

  But it’d be tricky. He wouldn’t underestimate her.

  Against all odds, she’d charged into that fire and carried out the junkie as if misplaced heroism ran through her veins.

  Interfering cunt. When he had her locked securely in his basement, he’d teach her what it meant to get in his way. He wouldn’t let Aunt Dory or Uncle Myer end her tutelage too soon. She’d pay, long and dear.

  By the time he finished, she’d be begging for death.

  Excited by his own plans, hands shaking and smile tremulous, Oren finished his preparations in a rush. Leaving his private rooms, he headed down the stairs—and overheard his aunt and uncle talking about him. Temper prickling, he paused to listen.

  “Do you know what she’s going to do?”

  “Don’t you ever learn?” Uncle Myer snapped.

  “I just forget sometimes, that’s all,” Aunt Dory whined. “It’s . . . confusing.”

  Staying firm, Uncle Myer grabbed her arm. “If you slip up in front of him, he’s likely to beat you to death. Do you want that?”

  “You wouldn’t save me?”

  “I’m trying to save you now. Thanks to Oren, we have a big house and plenty of money to spend, and we can feed our fetishes. Do you want to ruin it all with your stupid mouth?”