by Bryan Davis
Tamiel advanced his bishop. “Just as I thought. The anthrozils are already planning for a rescue. Our timing is perfect.”
The newsreader took a breath and continued. “In local news, authorities are trying to determine the cause of a car explosion that killed a female high school student near Flagstaff. The name of the victim and her school are being withheld until next of kin are notified.”
Lauren slammed the brakes, slapped the car into park, and threw the door open. She leaped out and sprinted as fast as she could, following the road in the glow of the headlights. Sobbing as she ran, she stumbled on a stone but caught herself and hurried on.
As a new cluster of lights shone ahead, she slowed to a jog. Maybe they were buildings—a home or a store of some kind. She had to get to them, find other people. Yes, that was it. If she could get around other people, maybe she’d be safe. Ghosts didn’t like crowds, right? And that angel always stayed aloof, didn’t he? But would anyone believe her crazy story?
PRISONER
Lauren ran on and on, leaving behind the headlights’ glow. It was so cold. Her bare arms grew numb. Frigid, dry air assaulted her eyes and cheeks. Why hadn’t she put on the sweatshirt when she had the chance?
A cloud passed in front of the moon. All lay dark except for the lights ahead. As she drew closer, the road shifted from dirt and pebbles to pavement, and the scene grew clear. On the other side of a tall chain-link fence, a well-lit compound stretched out beyond her view. With concrete one-story buildings, neatly manicured lawns, and fences topped with razor wire, it looked like a jail or a military correctional facility.
She passed a sign—Caution. Enter on Green Light Only—and slowed to a stop several feet from an entry gate with a drop-down bar. Gasping and pressing a hand against her stomach, she crouched and dry heaved, having nothing inside to vomit. A uniformed man with a pistol in a hip holster walked from a guardhouse. “Miss? Are you all right?”
Shaking her head as she caught her breath, she pointed back toward the limo. “Two people … a man and a woman … kidnapped me. … I escaped … from the car. They’re chasing me.”
The guard pulled a flashlight from his belt and shone it down the road. After shifting the beam from side to side several times, he slid it back in place. “Whoever they are, they must have hightailed it.”
Lauren read the guard’s name tag—Private M. Tate. The military facility guess was probably on target. “I wouldn’t count on it,” she said, still gasping for breath.
Tate snapped a phone from a belt clip, held it to his ear, and pushed a button on the side.
When it beeped, the sound seemed to pinch something in Lauren’s back, worse than a bee sting. Both the cold and the mystery prompted a new shiver.
“Yeah, I have a girl here at the gate, maybe sixteen years old.” He looked at her with raised eyebrows.
“Yes. Sixteen.” Lauren rubbed heat into her arms as she tried to hide the pain. It seemed that every word he spoke into the radio stung her skin.
“She said she was kidnapped, but she escaped. There’s no sign of anyone else around.”
Loud static buzzed from the earpiece. Tate jerked it away and stared at it. The lights around the guardhouse flickered, as did other lights in the compound. When a sizzling noise and smoke erupted from the phone, he slung it to the pavement.
“Short circuit,” he said as he shook a wounded finger. “We’re probably on generator power now. But it doesn’t make sense that my phone would react to an electrical surge.”
The lights steadied, though they stayed dimmer than before. The entire facility looked like a dreary school under a twilight sky.
Lauren’s pain eased. “Weird.”
Tate set a hand on her back and guided her around the drop-down arm and into a shadowed area. As he pulled a stool from the guardhouse, he stared at her. “Are you … glowing?”
She glanced at her bare forearm. As always, the glow was invisible to her own eyes. “Too much sunlight, maybe?”
“Could be. I’ve heard that certain herbs can cause it, too.” He grabbed a jacket off the stool and gestured for her to sit. “I can’t leave my post, so you’ll have to wait here until the patrol officer comes by. He’ll know where to take you.” He draped the jacket over her shoulders. “That should help.”
Lauren sat on the stool and, sliding her arms through the fleece-lined sleeves, gave him a nod and a halfhearted smile. He was trying to be nice, but she couldn’t trust him yet. Although she had escaped, the crisis was far from over.
She pushed her hand into one of the jacket’s pockets and found wadded material inside. She pulled it halfway out—a baseball-style cap with gray and light green splotches, similar to caps she had seen in photos of army soldiers.
After stuffing it back into the pocket, she gritted her teeth to keep them from chattering. She had to call and warn her parents, but her phone lay on the front seat in the limo, and Tate’s phone sat on the road in three pieces. That murdering mutant probably had cronies he could call, so he might already be arranging her parents’ deaths.
“How long till the patrol officer comes by?” she asked.
Tate glanced at his watch. “About fifteen minutes, but he’s not always on time. He’s new, so he sometimes explores a bit.”
She looked into the compound, following the various walkways leading to darkness-shrouded buildings. “Where do you think he’ll take me?”
“Colonel Baxter’s office,” he said, pointing. “It’s hard to see now, but it’s under that yellow light. He’s working late tonight, so you’re in luck.”
She followed the guard’s finger, scanning a wide walkway until it stopped at a slant-roofed, one-story building. “I think I see it.”
“I don’t know why it’s still so dark. They hauled in a bunch of new generators just last week. They must not be online yet.”
“Why so many?”
Tate chuckled. “If I told you, I’d have to kill you.”
“Very funny.” As Lauren gauged the distance to the Colonel’s office, a shadow of a winged creature glided across the walkway before disappearing over the office roof.
Tate’s mouth dropped open. “What in blue blazes?”
Lauren slid off the stool and kept her head low. “He’s here.”
“Who’s here?”
“One of the kidnappers.”
Tate’s eyes darted nervously. “Nothing to be worried about. Probably just a big owl.”
“An owl?” Lauren gave him an incredulous stare. “Do you really believe that?”
A new shadow appeared. Lauren and Tate turned toward the road. Now dressed in military camouflage fatigues and cap, Semiramis marched toward them with a confident stride. “Private Tate,” she said, eyeing his name tag, “this girl escaped this morning. I was bringing her here, but she bolted from the car just before we arrived.”
Lauren leaned close to Tate and whispered, “She’s lying. She’s one of the kidnappers.”
“I didn’t hear about any escape,” Tate said. “That news gets around fast.”
“She’s a special case. Everything’s been hush-hush about her.”
“And you didn’t cuff her?” Tate asked. “That doesn’t make sense.”
“I see you’ve never worked with juveniles.” Semiramis glared at Lauren and sharpened her tone. “The little liar promised she wouldn’t need them, so I gave her a break, but it looks like she can’t be trusted.”
“I know what you mean. My stepdaughter lies all the time.”
Lauren stared at Tate. It seemed that his entire countenance had suddenly changed, as if this woman had cast some kind of spell on him.
“Do you have cuffs I could borrow?” Semiramis asked.
“Coming right up.”
As Tate stepped toward the guardhouse, Lauren grabbed his arm. “No! She’s a kidnapper!” She pointed at Semiramis. “Think about it. Why didn’t she drive the rest of the way? Why aren’t I dres
sed in a striped jumpsuit? I’m wearing a volleyball uniform, for crying out loud!”
Tate gave Semiramis a skeptical tilt of his head. “Where is your car?”
“First of all,” Semiramis said, setting a hand on her hip, “when I stopped to get this brat to settle down, she jerked out the keys, grabbed my cuffs, and threw them all into a cow pasture. Of course, I didn’t think she’d head straight for the base, so I searched around a while before hoofing it here. Second, she is playing a crafty game with the jumpsuit business. She knows the minimum security inmates wear orange instead of stripes, but she’s trying to fool you into thinking she’s never been here before. She got the volleyball uniform from her girlfriend, thinking she could pose as a jock.”
Lauren clenched her fists. “It’s all a lie. She and this winged—” She bit her lip. Telling the whole truth would just make things worse. If only she could get to someone with an official list of prisoners before Tate handed her over, maybe she could prove her story.
Semiramis laughed. “Did she tell you a tale about a winged creature? She’s been singing that wild story ever since she tripped on acid a few hours ago. She got high with her druggie friends as soon as she broke out. That’s the kind of garbage we’re dealing with.”
“She didn’t mention any winged creature.” Tate withdrew a set of handcuffs from the guardhouse and reached for Lauren’s wrist. “But we did see—”
“No!” Lauren jerked her arm away. “Listen! You have to believe me! Do I even look like a druggie?” She pointed at the Colonel’s office. “Can’t you just check it out before you hand me over to her? My name is Lauren Hunt. I live in Flagstaff. My parents’ names are Fiona and Gaston Hunt. I go to school at—”
“I’m sorry, Lauren, or whatever your real name is.” He pushed the jacket sleeve up and snapped a cuff around her wrist. “But those stripes on her uniform mean I have to do what she says, and I couldn’t call to check even if I wanted to.”
“Someone has to.” Lauren jumped away and sprinted toward Colonel Baxter’s office, the handcuffs jingling at her side.
“Catch her!” Semiramis called.
As Lauren continued running, Tate’s voice faded behind her. “I can’t leave my post. Don’t worry. There’s no place for her to go.”
Lauren leaped up the three steps to the office entrance, twisted the knob, and flung the door open. Heaving deep breaths, she looked inside the dimly lit rectangular room. At the left side, a man in a military uniform sat behind a desk, looking at an open laptop computer. Its glow washed over his face and drew scrolling lines of characters from cheek to cheek.
At the right-hand wall, a woman dressed in an orange jumpsuit sat in a hardback chair, her body erect and her hands on her knees as if ready to jump at the first hint of a command. She glanced Lauren’s way but said nothing, though her eyes widened and her brow creased deeply. With closely cropped dark hair, thin face, and pale skin, she gave the appearance of a concentration camp survivor.
Then, as if formed from the darkness itself, Tamiel emerged from a shadow behind the man at the desk. Dressed completely in black, including thin gloves that appeared to be a selection from a women’s department store, he looked as ghoulish as ever. “Here she is, Colonel Baxter,” he said as he pointed at the screen and nodded toward Lauren. “Now that she has joined us, feel free to verify her identity.”
Lauren spun in place and scanned the jail yard. From the direction of the front gate, a big guard strode toward her. She couldn’t escape in that direction, and any other direction would lead her into the unknown.
When she swiveled back, the Colonel looked up, squinted at Lauren for a moment, and nodded. “I can see the resemblance.”
As the Colonel rose from his seat, Lauren backed down the steps. “No,” she said, shivering again. “This can’t be. I’m Lauren Hunt. I have never been a prisoner here.”
The Colonel, a thin, lanky man wearing beige khakis and a camo shirt, walked slowly toward her, a hand raised. “I know you’re scared, but when I take you to your—”
She tightened her fists at her side and shouted, “I’m not supposed to be here!”
“Lauren,” Tamiel said, his voice as smooth as silk as he followed the Colonel, “I realize that your friend’s death has caused you a tremendous amount of grief, but there is no need to deny reality. We know who you really are.”
“Who I really am?” Setting her cuffed hand on her hip, Lauren pointed at Tamiel. “Speaking of who you really are, what did you do with your wings, you mutant zombie freak?”
Tamiel and the Colonel, now standing together on the top step, glanced at each other. “Drugs,” Tamiel said, shaking his head sadly. “It is tragic how kids these days try to drown their sorrows by poisoning their brains.”
“Ain’t that the truth.” The Colonel stepped to the next stair, his hand again extended. “We’ll get you into the infirmary, and you’ll be yourself in no time.”
The woman dressed in orange sneaked up behind them and waved her arms, her face wild with alarm, apparently signaling for Lauren to run.
Lauren spun again and took off, but she slammed into the big guard. He wrapped a pair of tree-trunk arms around her body. She squirmed and thrashed, but his arms felt like immovable pinchers.
“I have her, Colonel,” the soldier said, his voice deep and calm.
The Colonel joined them on the walkway. “Take her to the Healers. They’ll detox her.”
Semiramis stepped out from behind the big soldier. “Will you allow me to escort her?”
“Are you sure?” the Colonel asked. “She’s already proven she’s a runner.”
Tamiel walked down the steps and stopped at the bottom, keeping his distance, while the female prisoner stayed at the office doorway, now watching stoically. “I think it is a good idea,” Tamiel said. “A woman’s touch is best for a frightened girl and will ease the transition back to sanity. I vouch for the Major’s abilities.”
“Very well.” The Colonel nodded at the big guard. “Release her, but wait here a moment. I have something in my safe to give her, something that belonged to her mother. The Healers will want to see her with it.” Using sign language, the Colonel relayed a message to the female prisoner. She nodded and ran back into the office.
The guard let Lauren go and brushed his hands across her upper arms. “I apologize if I hurt you, Miss. I tried to be as gentle as a sheep.”
She looked up at him. With short gray hair standing upright on his balding head, and crow’s-feet radiating from his eyes to his temples, he appeared to be in his sixties, and his kind smile made him look more like a grandfather than a prison guard. With a quick glance, she read his name tag—Sergeant D. Hoskins. “I think you mean as a lamb.”
“Yes, yes, of course.” He shifted nervously. “I apologize again.”
Lauren studied his eyes. He seemed so sincere, so kind, even if awkward. “I’m not hurt. Thank you for being so concerned.”
Tamiel gestured toward the office door. “Shall we return to our research, Colonel Baxter?” He glanced inside before looking at the Colonel again. “Alone this time? I want to show you the possible traits of a male anthrozil we’re looking for. I cannot afford anyone knowing who our suspects are.”
“Portia is deaf,” the Colonel said. “She won’t hear our conversation.”
“Pardon my frankness, Colonel. I realize that you are unaccustomed to the late hours, but when it comes to anthrozils we have not yet apprehended, complete privacy is more important than having a coffee fetcher on hand.”
“She’s more than a coffee fetcher. She knows the computer system better than I do, so I keep her at hand whenever I’m here. She’s sort of like an idiot savant, kind of simple-minded about everything else, so we protect her from the general population. She has her own room here in the minimum security section.”
“Is that so?” Tamiel eyed the Colonel carefully. “What was her crime?”
“She kille
d her husband. He was abusive, so the DA reduced to voluntary manslaughter.”
“Voluntary? No self-defense claims?”
The Colonel shook his head. “The public defender let her plead guilty. I guess he didn’t care to push the case. Couldn’t be bothered, I suppose.”
“Very interesting.” Tamiel looked into the office again. “Be that as it may, I prefer privacy. I want nothing left to chance. If the anthrozil we’re looking for is like his father, we have to be very careful at every step of the process.”
“If you insist.”
Portia returned, her fingers rolled into a fist. She hurried down the stairs and, grabbing Lauren’s closed cuff, examined it, as if checking to make sure it was fastened. She pushed something into Lauren’s hand and gave her a long stare before breaking away. Then, leaping into a jog, she followed the paved walk deeper into the prison facility and blended into the shadows.
After Tamiel and the Colonel reentered the office and closed the door, Hoskins marched away, leaving Lauren alone with Semiramis. Lauren opened her hand. A gold ring with a mounted red gem sat in her palm.
The ghostly woman watched Hoskins, apparently waiting for him to get out of earshot before moving or speaking. Finally, she turned and stared into Lauren’s eyes. Her irises altered in color from green to blue and back again—eerie, haunting.
Lauren resisted another shiver. She couldn’t let this ghost win any mind games.
“That’s a rubellite,” Semiramis said, nodding at the ring in Lauren’s hand. “A very special gem. It is said that dragons use them as a symbol of power, and since dragons who become humans lose their draconic nature, the gem turns white when they wear such a ring.”
Lauren studied the red stone. Glittering in the bare light, it appeared to be nothing more than the fake rubies she had seen in cheap costume jewelry. “How could it have belonged to my mother? I’ve never seen it before in my life.”
