At the bottom, Kyle turned toward the improvised detention area. Which, as luck would have it, was away from all the yelling and the gunshots. He was in no mood to see how long his apparent immunity to the chaos would last. He wanted to get the girl and get out.
Fin would be a liability in dealing with Rook. She would get flighty, and with Kyle encumbered she might jump him. Assuming she wasn’t delirious or drowning in her own drool. He opted to leave Fin on the floor and go to the next chamber for Rook. With her under control, he could come back this way to collect Fin and exit the building.
Kyle paced from his brother, at the bottom of the stairs, over to the door. The mass of ugly noises worsened, and he thought he saw signs of stirring from Fin. Three times he went back and prodded the unresponsive body, getting angry at himself and at Fin. He couldn’t afford to waste any more time.
Resolved to get moving, Kyle went to the door a fourth time. Movement in the shadows near some ancient shelves made him reach for his gun. He dropped into a crouch and scanned that corner of the room, seeing no one. Blinking sweat out of his eyes, he scanned the whole room. He couldn’t find anyone other than Fin, but his peripheral vision was infested with lurking assassins.
Now desperate to escape this room, Kyle yanked open the door and staggered out into the cavernous garage.
Here, too, things were shadowy and saturated with caustic noise.
Christ, Kyle thought, this is like one of Fin’s band’s rehearsals.
Kyle lurched toward the hulking green container where Rook was imprisoned. The floor kept shaking, getting worse. It was all getting worse. Soon he had to stop because of the floor’s violent pitching.
This couldn’t really be happening. The building wouldn’t withstand it, for one thing. He had to put mind over matter and walk to the crate.
It was like trying to walk on a sagging bed sheet. He fell, landing on the treacherous concrete with a sensation like being doused with ice water. Aware he could be seriously hurt, Kyle chose to crawl. The hard dampness against his palms tasted green in his left hand, beige in his right. The floor hadn’t stopped its undulations, and even on all fours Kyle was unsteady. The room flipped completely and Kyle fancied centrifugal force splayed him on the cement.
He threw up, managing to lift his face first. The small puddle whispered in conspiratorial odors that it would go in search of a spirit guide for him. Then it left.
Kyle looked ahead. The container wasn’t there. The thing was thirty feet long and green — how could he lose it? All he saw were shadows and darker shadows. When he tried to focus on anything, the vague areas of light and dark swam together into enormous faces. None of them looked happy. Ghostly Easter Island heads surrounded him, all shrieking and howling and gibbering. He was unable to rise because the floor wouldn’t hold still.
Kyle remembered a time when he decided to be civil toward Fin in exchange for decent weed. Of course the bag was laced, with what he never did find out, and that was the end of civility between the Tanner brothers. Kyle was now glad that happened, because the harrowing effects of the augmented joint gave him some basis to understand how he might survive what was happening now. A narrow ledge along which he could skirt the abyss.
He made a decision. The container was that way. He would drag himself until he reached it. No matter that he couldn’t see it. It was there. He would get there.
***
Kyle pulled himself upright, clinging to the cold, vibrating steel. It was solid and real, and the most comforting thing he’d ever felt, even if it was trying to shake his fillings loose. He leaned there, with his cheek against the crate, coming back to himself a bit.
Gradually, he remembered he had come there for a reason. Kyle felt almost steady now, so he pulled the lever and swung the door open.
The girl lay curled in a ball in the center. A second after the door opened, so did her eyes. She tilted her head up and shot a defiant look. Kyle now felt even better. He smiled.
She gave him the finger.
Well, given the manner of her arrival it was unlikely she’d be so easily charmed. Still smiling, Kyle extended his right hand and said, “Time to choose. Coming with me, or dying in here? And I’m in a hurry.”
She scowled as she stood. Squinting in the half light, she walked toward Kyle, but stopped about four feet before his outstretched hand and said, “Where are you going?”
Kyle was proud of himself for not reacting angrily. “I’m heading to the top of the food chain. Taking a short cut I just learned about. You’re invited.”
“I wouldn’t want to appear ungrateful,” she replied, “but why? I barely know you.”
“You know me well enough. I’m shallow. No mysteries.”
“Now that’s not true at all...” She looked away.
Kyle took a step into the crate and Rook retreated. He smiled and she glared. More than sibling rivalry, more than lust, was at work in him. The closer he drew to Rook, the less all the chaos and sporadic gunfire mattered. His disorientation abated the moment he released her. He moved another step and she held her ground, looking vulnerable and terribly unhappy.
“You’re a puppet,” she said, “and I don’t like who’s pulling your strings.”
Kyle chuckled. “Not anymore. I got my wish, killed Geppetto, and now I’m a real boy.”
“Fin’s a real man. You should be careful what you wish for.” She tried to push past. Kyle barred her way and tried to snare her. She tore away and sulked back to the recesses of the container. “Fine. I’ll stay here. Fuck off.”
“No,” Kyle said, “you missed your chance to choose. And we really do need to get moving.” He withdrew from the crate and took several deep breaths. Recalling the feel of the string of beads he’d found in Shaw’s mental cathedral, he focused his will and said, in the most forceful voice he owned, “Come with me now!”
She advanced hesitantly. Her movements were robotic, her face drowsy. Kyle waited by the door, impatient to leave, eager to spend time alone with Rook.
At last she came within reach, and Kyle seized her wrist without a struggle. She continued to glide forward, then suddenly kneed him in the stomach, obviously higher than she’d planned, grabbed his arm in both hands and pulled hard. Kyle tumbled into the prison, thinking he’d need some serious practice with this mental shit. She shoved the door. It was heavy and moved slowly, giving Kyle time to brace a foot against it.
Rook lunged to the other container and pulled the lever, probably assuming any other prisoners would be her allies. The door unlatched and moved open about an inch. Kyle snagged her.
He had his arms around her from behind, and held his pistol in his right hand. Bending, he rested his cheek against her neck. She shuddered, but relaxed against his body.
“That almost worked, didn’t it?” he asked.
“Not even close,” she said, “but I felt... something.”
Placing the muzzle of the gun in the hollow of her jaw, he smoothly turned her to face him. With the gun still in place he bent forward and kissed her. She made no reaction. He stopped and backed up a step, pointing the gun at her forehead. She licked her lips.
It might have been fear, but it looked like something different. Her hard little nipples poked through her thin, baggy t-shirt. Kyle stepped up to her and lowered the gun to his side. She didn’t move. He kissed her again, and she still didn’t kiss back, but she made a tiny noise.
The door of the second prison container had drifted halfway open. Kyle noticed it peripherally and rolled his eyes that way. He saw Marcus standing in the doorway, his restraints in a heap behind him and murder in his eyes. Rook, eyes closed, lifted her left hand uncertainly.
Kyle swung the pistol toward Marcus, who sprang and landed a powerful blow on Kyle’s forearm, knocking the gun free.
Marcus’s momentum bore him into Rook, whom he enfolded and carried a step with him. The gun skittered past the crates, sprouting crab-like legs. Kyle limped and stumbled after it.
***
*** ***
Marcus took Rook’s face roughly between his hands and glared at her.
“Filthy slut!” he shouted, and kissed her. He was gone before she knew if she was kissing him back.
Kyle reached the pistol, and struggled to stand up with it. Rook stared in confused fear. Marcus crossed the distance to Kyle in three bounding strides and tackled him. Kyle’s varsity days were fresh enough in his muscle-memory to save him from a skull fracture.
A short volley of gunshots echoed sharply from another room. Rook cringed and looked around for a way out.
The only exterior door she saw was the big garage door.
As the men rolled across the cement, they traded more-or-less ineffectual, though ruthless, elbow smashes and jabs. Rook backed quickly away in the direction of the closed receiving door. Who should she root for? Either way she was in deep shit with the winner. Best to make a break for it while they were distracted.
The feeble emergency lights along the far wall dimmed and the shadows all lurched to the left. Rook’s heart thudded painfully.
Kyle and Marcus rolled to a stop. Neither one could land a punch, and it took them several seconds between attempts. What the hell was wrong with them?
Marcus turned away from Kyle and laboriously drew a bead on Rook. She struggled to keep her features composed. Kyle took the opportunity to get up, backpedal, and fall over. When Marcus turned back he was unable to relocate his opponent.
Rook felt exasperated with both of them. If they would keep beating on each other, she might be able to get away from them and whoever was doing the shooting on the other side of the building. She reached the huge overhead door, but couldn’t lift it. It must weigh a ton.
Giving up on Kyle, Marcus picked his way over to Rook, avoiding most of the invisible obstacles but falling down twice anyway. As he crossed the last ten feet or so he straightened up and moved without difficulty. Rook shook her head in confusion.
“Hi, little Raven,” he murmured. She wanted to defy him, but faltered. In all the chaos and turmoil Marcus was at least something familiar. The day had taken a heavy toll, and it felt like a direct response to her foolish desire for happiness.
Lesson learned, she thought, I’m fucking exhausted.
She permitted Marcus to lay her head against his chest and stroke her hair.
“You’ve been lost, wandering a land of poison dreams, but it’ll be okay now. Your soul will wake up and the nightmare will fade away.”
Rook winced at the pseudo-shamanistic bullshit, but maybe Fin was just a dream-being. Thinking about him, and her experiences of the past five minutes, made her feel punished and dirty. She bit her lip and blood welled at the corner of her mouth.
“Now,” Marcus said, “we should leave this place.” Rook sucked in the blood, and nodded. She half-wished she had surrendered like that when Kyle showed up.
Marcus was unable to lift the garage door either, so Rook felt less incompetent. Even working together they couldn’t budge it.
“There must be a control box.” Rook scanned the walls.
They were in a large open space with the two cargo containers, a black sedan, and a panel truck from Bud’s Appliance Heaven. All the walls were bare cinder block with no windows. A tunnel-like opening had a cloudy, slatted plastic drape hanging across its twenty-foot mouth, making it impossible to see what lay beyond, but that’s where the yelling and sounds of struggle came from. Beside it an interior door stood ajar, and let in to a dim room. Maybe the overhead door control was in there.
Rook entered the room and flipped the light switch, which did nothing. The room’s single anemic emergency light provided enough illumination for her to make out the shapes of a few tables and chairs, and a shape on the floor by yet another doorway. Her eyes acclimated to the dimly pulsing light and she realized it was a person. Had someone been shot?
Rook rushed over and was simultaneously stunned and horrified to discover it was Fin. She called his name. He was unresponsive, zipped up in something like a cross between a straitjacket and a body bag. What the hell? The reverend must have interrogated him, too, and he had yet to recover.
“Let’s go,” Marcus said. He grabbed her wrist and pulled her to her feet.
“Carry this guy,” she said, pointing to Fin. “He’s my friend.”
Marcus snorted and dragged her back toward the door they’d come in through.
“Let me go, Marcus.” Rook tried to plant her feet, but he pulled her back into the garage area.
Towing Rook by the wrist, Marcus nudged aside the plastic sheeting at the tunnel entrance. The passage led into another, larger, open space. He began edging down the side.
No way was she going to just leave Fin laying there on the floor with all this nasty shit going on, and no way in hell was she going down that hallway to almost certain death. Rook leaned over and bit Marcus’s hand. He shook her off, but let go of her wrist, too. She wanted to kick him in the balls, but needed him to carry Fin, so she had to be at least moderately civil.
“I’m not going that way,” Rook said. “Let’s go get my friend and find the controls for the garage door.”
Marcus pounded the block wall with his knuckles, and said, “Fuck. You don’t understand, we gotta go. We get out of this place and leave all these people — all of them — and things will be like before.”
“Before? You mean when we only had sex to hurt each other? You mean...”
“I mean this is the doorway into our lives as they were meant to be, and you’re trying to go the wrong way.”
“...that you’re full of righteous bullshit and all that matters is that I listen to you, always, and don’t talk back. Gee, how could I tear myself away!”
Marcus raised his fist again. This time he was looking at Rook.
Her gaze didn’t waver. “You know my real problem? Too many fucking heroes. Hit me, or don’t, but don’t feed me your warmed-over cosmology and hokey philosophy. Fin is important to me and I’m not leaving him.”
“Rook,” Marcus growled. He stopped, unflared his nostrils, continued in a softer tone, “I don’t want you to lose your way.”
“You don’t want me to lose your way, which by the way, you don’t even know yourself. Let the spirits open a door for you. Just leave me alone.” Rook stepped back into the garage area and darted into the dim room where Fin lay in a heap. Marcus cursed under his breath, but didn’t follow.
She rushed over to Fin and said his name a few times as she patted his cheeks, trying to bring him around. He had two black eyes, a bandage on his forehead, and another across his nose. She wasn’t the only one who’d had a bad day — Fin had been to the hospital. That much of Kyle’s story was true, then.
While waiting for Fin to recover from Shaw’s hypnotism, or whatever the fuck it was, Rook removed his bindings and held his head in her lap, stroking his forehead and saying his name. After a few minutes she decided she would have to move him, get them out. She kissed his brow and stood.
He was so fucking heavy. Dragging him by his ankles, she moved into the next room, away from the garage. The far side offered two doors to choose from, both with frosted glass windows. One admitted a feeble light. Rook moved toward it.
It opened to the outside where a streetlight buzzed.
She’d have to drag Fin a long way across pavement and wasn’t sure either of them would hold up very well.
“Rook...” came a rough voice. She stayed quiet.
“Rook, I came back.” It was Marcus.
Rook tongued the swollen place on her lip where she’d bitten it.
Marcus came into the room looking haggard.
“The spirits wouldn’t lead me out. They led me back to you.”
“Whatever. Help me with Fin and let’s get the fuck out of here.”
*** *** ***
When Rook said, “Carry him,” Marcus didn’t object. He narrowed his eyes and weighed his options, but scooped Fin up without a word. Let her think it was the forceful tone of her
voice or the icy fire in her eyes. It seemed petty to argue about transporting Fin. After all, his flimsy carcass slowed Rook down and allowed Marcus to find her.
They moved warily out onto the parking lot. Nothing much appeared to be going on outside. There were some dark-colored vans parked near the building, but no signs of life. Rook and Marcus looked around, then at each other to find their next move. Marcus shrugged and the icy fire leapt forth.
“Not this again. You gonna pout now that you can’t be in charge? Those guys from Tattoo Biker were absolutely right. You can’t even draw! You’re a hack, and all your shit is,” she groped for the words, “is pretentious neo-aboriginal dreck!”
Raven. So good to warm himself again by her fire. “Those Biker fuckers are tools! They don’t know shit about power markings!”
“And neither do you!” Raven taunted. “You live in denial and bully anyone who points out the realities you ignore.”
“Listen to our resident expert on the higher self,” Marcus shouted, thoroughly enjoying his fury. “Neglecting her sacred duties, stoned or comatose, except when she’s printing lies. I fail to see how your work gives you any basis to judge me.”
“At least I realize my whole identity doesn’t rest on my work.” Her fierce blue eyes shattered the moonlight. “Which is, by the way, more creative and original than yours.”
“Original? You’re a goddamn tabloid wannabe!”
“My point exactly.”
An intense flashlight beam hit Marcus full in the face and they both fell silent. Raven drilled into Marcus with her eyes. She wanted to do the talking. Before Marcus could stop her, she spun around.
Miss Brandymoon's Device: a novel of sex, nanotech, and a sentient lava lamp (Divided Man Book 1) Page 14
