Miss Brandymoon's Device: a novel of sex, nanotech, and a sentient lava lamp (Divided Man Book 1)

by Skelley, Rune

  She let the gun fall and concentrated hard on breathing.

  Kyle wasn’t here yet. She could still escape.

  Marcus’s glassy eyes stared blankly at her as she yanked on his arm. Unless she could get the handcuffs off, she wasn’t going anywhere. The keys were in the ignition.

  He was so fucking heavy. The cuff cut into her left wrist and the chain bit her fingers where she gripped it. The bare metal floor was slick with his blood and Rook struggled toward the front for several seconds without progress, even after kicking off her skirt and flimsy, slippery-soled sandals.

  She braced her back against the rear door and shoved him forward with her feet as far as she could reach. Once she climbed back over him, she grabbed the driver’s seat support with her right hand and pulled. Slowly she dragged Marcus to the front and reached the keys. As she unlocked the cuff from her wrist, she heard the helicopter.

  Rook jumped out of the van and looked around. She was in the middle of a field, trees a couple hundred yards off in all directions. The helicopter sounded nearer now, but she couldn’t see it. She sprinted toward the woods on her right because they seemed marginally closer.

  The sky lit up. Rook tripped. She looked up, expecting the helicopter and Kyle.

  It wasn’t the helicopter.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  ZIGGURAT

  Those who go Forth in Chains will be called into the Firmament,

  but fall and be Minions of the Pretender

  from New Revelations by Reverend Brian Shaw, unpublished

  Rook was gone. One minute they had her signal, were tracking right to her. A short blast of interference, and she vanished, even from his head. Kyle thought she was dead, killed by Marcus. They arrived at her last known position within a minute. No trace. Just Marcus’s bloody carcass, Rook’s skirt and sandals, and the handcuffs. The shooting took place on an old sofa in the back of the van, so Kyle could picture what transpired. The thought made him furious. But his Rook fought back. Good girl. Kyle just had to clean up after her, dispose of the body and the van.

  The ambush was only one of the shocks Kyle received last night. His clever wife knew all about the program. No telling what else she had figured out and neglected to tell him. Once she was home with him again, they’d need to have another talk about the Prophecy.

  The tech guys were going through the logs to see what they could find out about Marcus’s movements over the past few days. So far they hadn’t turned anything up.

  Everett, the squad medic, wanted Kyle to rest. Kyle knew he should, but was filled with restless energy. The shoulder would be all right.

  More fuckin’ rehab.

  Kyle felt like shit. He’d already had two meetings with the religious idiots and there was yet another scheduled for this afternoon. They needed so much fucking hand-holding. And he was sick of everyone asking him why he looked like hell, not in so many words of course.

  After fortifying himself with a pull from his flask, Kyle went downstairs in his private elevator. He nodded to the guards as he passed, and walked down to the lowest level of the garage. There he unlocked a supply closet and went in, locking the door again behind him. He unlocked another door on the back wall and entered a pipe-clogged tunnel. Damp and poorly lit, it had several smaller tunnels branching off to the right. Metal doors lined the wall on the left. Kyle opened the second one and stepped into the cramped room beyond.

  The techs all looked up when Kyle came in, but quickly bent back to their work. Brody walked over.

  “Nothing on Savage?” Kyle asked.

  “We know his frequency, but there’s nothing recent. Nothing useful. We found two instances of him, but there’s nothing there. Just silence.”

  “Was he blocking somehow?”

  “No. It’s not dead air. You can hear movement, ambient noise, but no speaking.”

  “Keep looking. He had multiple piercings. Go back and search the archives for other frequencies he broadcast on.”

  Brody didn’t go back to work. He looked like he wanted to say something.

  “What?” Kyle demanded.

  “Sir. I don’t know if you’ll be interested in this. We have that other signal back again. The one we were tracking earlier, when we were tracking your wife. Before she was your wife, I mean. Sir.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Frequency 29.1137612. The Fin Tanner frequency, sir.”

  “Fin? So?”

  “He’s back, sir.”

  Kyle had forgotten about Fin.

  “Back? Where was he?”

  “We don’t know, sir. He stopped broadcasting, but now he’s back. I didn’t know if you still wanted to track him. You hadn’t updated our orders after the raid.”

  “Isn’t he dead?”

  “He may be soon.”

  “What the fuck’s that mean?”

  “He’s been on a bender for the better part of a week, sir.”

  “Shit.”

  “If you don’t mind me asking, sir, is he a relative?”

  “Unfortunately. Where is he?”

  “Webster, sir.”

  “Send the recordings to my office. Keep tracking him. I think we’ll need to bring him in.”

  *** *** ***

  Fin vainly sought some release from the increasingly shrill beseechings of the aliens. He blew the last of his credit for a very dirty speedball from Max’s supplier, Ron. Nobody trusted Ron. Ron preferred to be called Caesar. Fin said, “Kill me, Caesar.” Sweating and vomiting later, he blamed the aliens for keeping him alive.

  Refusing their pleas didn’t deter the spiders, nor did Fin’s most eloquent and descriptive curses. His rage and blame and condemnation seemed to be no less than they expected. Finally, he had nothing left but pain. Denied an end to his grief, he shared it. He couldn’t speak, could hardly breathe, but they heard him.

  He let the weight of his loss crush him, and the aliens were trapped. Smothered in the horror of being left behind, empty. They became silent, and withdrew as Fin wept. He fell into a black sleep.

  He awoke in the trunk of a car, reeking of vomit. His own, judging by the dampness on his chin and chest. Good news, given the circumstances. His body was cramped, as much from his recent excesses as from his current predicament. He wondered who he pissed off, but couldn’t think of anyone besides Bishop who owned a car.

  Fin belatedly thought of wiping the puke off his face, and discovered the handcuffs. Well, that ruled out a clandestine trip to the drive-in.

  Shaking soon overtook splitting headache as Fin’s primary source of sensory stimulation. In a short time he passed out again.

  This time when he came around, Fin was still handcuffed and covered in his own waste, but now he lay in a closet. Bare and dusty, it smelled of cleaning fluids. The concrete floor had a drain into which Fin relieved himself. Spasms wracked his body.

  The drugs worked through Fin’s system, and the lack of drugs did, too. After he kept a rudimentary breakfast down, his captors finally showed themselves. Two burly men in black fatigues removed Fin’s handcuffs and led him out into a deserted parking garage. They made him strip and blasted him with a hose, periodically squirting him with liquid soap. When they decided he was as clean as he was likely to get, they tossed him a towel, and gave him fatigues to wear. Fin wouldn’t normally wear these sorts of clothes, but the men were armed. As he dressed, he noticed his nipple ring was missing. Rook warned him the clasp was loose, promised to replace it with a new hoop after the honeymoon they never got to have. He rolled his eyes skyward and confirmed the absence of his black hoop as well. One less way to remember her.

  ***

  “Do you like my office?” Kyle asked, sweeping his arms wide to encompass the stark white walls, ugly cross, and blinking alarm pad.

  Fin shrugged, more confounded than impressed.

  Kyle looked across his big, shiny desk at Fin. “I’ve accomplished so much in a short time, wouldn’t you say? I have this place, this organizat
ion, money, power.” He paused and fixed Fin with a smirk. “And a wife.” He laughed.

  Fin didn’t know what was supposed to be funny. Or why Kyle put him through this radical detox. He didn’t really want to find out.

  “She’s quite beautiful. I think you’ll agree.” Kyle took a double picture frame off his desk and looked at it for a few moments before turning it for Fin to see.

  Wedding pictures, with Rook as the bride.

  Fin felt rage and confusion. He tried to grab the frame, but Kyle moved it out of reach. Her hair was different, lighter, but it was her. White dress, veil. His wife in a wedding dress, looking lost and confused, standing with his smug brother at the altar of a grand, sterile church. The other picture showed the classic cake feeding scene, Rook’s expression vacant, Kyle’s wolfish.

  The evidence contradicted everything he knew about Rook. Fin knew real pictures from doctored ones, it was part of his job after all. The one on the wall showing Kyle with Shaw was fake. The wedding pictures were real. She married him, but she didn’t look happy about it.

  “I told you she’s lovely,” Kyle drawled.

  “Rook’s my wife.”

  “Possession is nine tenths of the law, as they say.”

  “You bastard.”

  “Oh, but no. You’re the bastard. Dad married my mother, after all, not yours.”

  “Fuck you.”

  “That reminds me, Rook is a little spitfire in the sack, isn’t she?”

  *** *** ***

  Taunting Fin wasn’t as much fun as Kyle anticipated, partially because Fin stopped playing along, but mostly because the taunting centered on Rook. Fin didn’t know she was missing, but Kyle felt her absence strongly. Rubbing salt in Fin’s wounds necessitated getting a little in his own. Kyle decided to let Fin stew, and try a mind reaming session later.

  Let him assume the worst, from his perspective. Maybe it would make him easier to crack. Kyle looked forward to that. When Fin cracked, Kyle would sift through the rubble and take whatever he needed to Complete himself. Whether it was something innate of Fin’s or something Rook gave him wouldn’t matter. With all the pieces in his possession, Kyle would no longer be the Divided Man. He would be Complete. And light would be restored upon the Earth. Whatever the hell that meant.

  *** *** ***

  Fin’s guard ushered him down to the lowest level in the underground garage, through a maintenance closet and a tunnel, and into a subterranean room. The room was overly bright and full of mercenaries. They regarded him with minimal interest before returning to their activities. The guard led Fin to a door off to the left.

  The room contained a cot, a wheeled stool, a rolling lamp and a cart reminiscent of a mechanic’s toolbox. Must be the infirmary. The guard and a colleague removed everything but the cot. They shut Fin in and locked the door.

  No windows. Cinder block walls, painted institutional green. Cement ceiling. Fin took in that much before the overhead bulb switched off. The only light now came through a slit under the door. He felt around by the doorframe, but couldn’t find a switch.

  Fin sat on the end of the cot and waited for his eyes to adjust. He searched the room. About eight feet by eight. The light was a bare bulb inside a cage. He had a thin mattress, a thinner pillow and one wool blanket on top of clean, white sheets.

  Now that I’m not interested in killing myself, he thought with grim irony, these bozos leave me with a complete kit. Bedsheets or bootlaces: it would be an agonizing choice.

  Fin took off his boots and stretched out on the cot. He didn’t expect to be able to sleep.

  He thought about Rook.

  She was alive. Fin tried to savor the relief that knowledge brought him, and not move on to the next thought. She was alive and married to his brother. In all the time he searched for her, he never once considered this possibility. It didn’t make any sense.

  Kyle said he was going to her, implied she was nearby. Fin scanned for her frequency and came up empty, but in a place this big she might simply be out of range. How did she end up here? Did she know he was here? Fin couldn’t accept that. She loved him.

  Her expression in the photos scared him. So lost. Did Kyle have her drugged? Had she hit her head? Maybe at the reception, which turned to shit with help from the aliens, and possibly Kyle as well.

  Painfully Fin recalled Rook telling him of her unbidden physical attraction to Kyle. Had he aroused her so strongly with his explosives and flunkies that she ran off with him? Fin snorted. He only knew any of that because she told him. It was difficult for her, but she had done it to strengthen their relationship. He couldn’t possibly hold it against her now. He loved her too much.

  Knowing this obsessing was what Kyle wanted didn’t make it any easier to stop.

  Later, more guards took Fin to another room in the underground complex, a dingy cinder block office. Kyle waited, sitting on the corner of the utilitarian metal desk, perusing a file. He glanced up when Fin entered, and nodded toward a chair. The guards pressed Fin into the chair and stood behind him while Kyle finished his reading. The whole setup made Fin feel like he was in trouble with the gym teacher.

  “Good evening, Fin,” Kyle said, closing the file.

  Fin kept quiet.

  “You’ll get over Rook soon enough. In the meantime, we need to spend some quality time together.” Kyle rose and looked down at Fin. “I think if we’d spent more time together as children we wouldn’t be in this situation now. We could have reached an understanding on this point long ago.”

  Fin didn’t know what the hell Kyle was talking about. How could they have settled Rook a long time ago?

  Kyle continued, “But you always were difficult. Always had to cause trouble.”

  “What do you want, Kyle?” Fin asked wearily.

  “Just what is rightfully mine. You guards can leave now,” Kyle said, eyes locked on Fin’s. “My brother won’t be any trouble.”

  The guards left.

  Kyle and Fin stared at each other. Fin felt animosity rolling off both of them and filling the small room. Something hot and slimy covered his brain. He yelled. Kyle chuckled. The hot sliminess chuckled too. It was Kyle trying to get into his head. Fin shuddered.

  Fin willed his mind calm. He had to stay in command of his senses and work out Kyle’s game. If he could handle this like a chess match, he’d be fine. Kyle would have no footing.

  As slime seeped into every crevice of his psyche, Fin summoned up a herd of giant chessmen. From mist and smoke they thickened and darkened into marble and onyx, scudding like clouds a few inches above the cattails and brambles. He assigned himself the role of black knight.

  *** *** ***

  What the hell was this chess shit? There’d been nothing like this the last time Kyle was in Fin’s head. That time it was a hostile alien environment and a big fucking sand pit. Fin must have remodeled after the eruption. The knights reminded him of Fin’s gay horsey tattoo, while the towers reminded him of Rook. Fin would be the black king. That’s the one you were supposed to protect in chess, right? The king was useless, but the queen was powerful. Stupid. Kyle hated the game.

  Kyle settled into one of the white knights. Let Fin assume he was using the king. That’s where he would concentrate his efforts, allowing Kyle the opportunity to escape scrutiny and reconnoiter. Somewhere Fin would have something that could Complete him. Since it was something Kyle lacked, he decided to let himself be drawn to it.

  Pieces drifted in all directions, more ballroom dance than chess game. The white pieces obeyed Kyle’s direction, so he tried to keep all of them in constant motion to better distract and confuse Fin. He closed ranks with the enemy king.

  *** *** ***

  Fin marveled at the effectiveness of his ploy. The chess tableau consumed Kyle’s attention, keeping him away from anything important. He had expected to at least have to orchestrate some semblance of a real game, counter a clumsy gambit or two.

  One of the white knights rose several extra inches fro
m the ground, and swiveled constantly as if monitoring the motions of the other pieces. Subtlety never was a Tanner family trait.

  The black knight shadowed Kyle’s purposeful but oblivious steed. A faint, tinny sort of babble came through, Kyle literally broadcasting his intentions and guesswork. He sought the key to Completion, whatever the hell that meant. His technique was nearly as unrefined as the Floating Wisdom’s. Cocky bastard.

  *** *** ***

  Kyle noticed something bent and black jutting out of the weeds. It could have been a charred branch, but it twitched. He seized it, hungry to know what secret fears Fin tried to conceal. This remnant of recent memory, tinged with dread, could be a perfect weapon.

  Floating Wisdom? What the fuck was a Floating Wisdom?

  A disease.

  A thought infection.

  Whatever. It gave Fin the willies. Picking up on an image, Kyle projected thoughts of tiny specks invading Fin’s brain.

  Scattering specks as he went, Kyle circled the king. He expected some reaction when he got so close, but nothing changed. The chess pieces continued dancing, all except one. Kyle noticed one of the rooks didn’t move.

  Approaching in what he hoped was an elliptical and roundabout way, Kyle discovered the castle was much larger than any of the chess pieces, and quite distant. He left the chess-waltz behind and reached the tower unchallenged.

  *** *** ***

  Fin fought down his frustration, knowing it would show. He didn’t want to compound his problems.

  Overconfidence had led him to hand over a dark, private thought, and Kyle zeroed in on it immediately. Only the fact that Kyle didn’t know what it meant spared Fin from a major assault. Which now looked imminent anyway, as his brother sized up the castle.

  The white knight slowed as it drew near, and circled to the right. Kyle seemed reluctant to charge.

  Perhaps Fin had nothing to worry about. Kyle still didn’t know what he was looking for. The chess pieces were more effective than planned, so Fin’s other defenses would certainly hold.

  *** *** ***