Apocalypse For Realz

by Bella Street

  “Time for your daily dose,” Fiona told him.

  When he didn't respond, she slapped him lightly until he turned a sweat-soaked face her way. His eyes sought hers before closing again.

  Fiona picked up one of the toppled test tubes, seemingly at random, and used a syringe to draw out the tube's contents. Next, she injected it into a shunt in the plastic tubing.

  “What are you doing?” Seffy gasped. “You'll kill him!”

  Fiona quirked her mouth and jerked her head toward her boyfriend. “Nah, this one won't die. He'd rather linger and continue to shoot himself up with poison.”

  Seffy pointed, horrified. “Looks like you're the one doing the shooting.”

  “Shut up.” Fiona held up the tube, her fingers smeared with blood. “He could've had anything he wanted, but there's this one formulation he always comes back to.” She stared down at Fenn in contempt. “Poor sap. I told him I never wanted it. But would he listen? Nope.”

  “What are you talking about?” Seffy asked with trepidation.

  Fiona looked more megalomaniacal than usual—what with that hellish glint in her eye and needle in her hand. “I thought he was addicted to heroin.”

  Fiona held the bloodied tube out to her. “Read the label.”

  Sensing a trap, Seffy kept her feet planted, but she leaned a bit closer and squinted.

  Seffy.

  Her heart pounded unnaturally loud. “Why is my name on that tube?”

  “Isn't it obvious? He's addicted to you.”

  Moistening her lips, Seffy tried to make sense of what she was hearing. “I thought Fenn wanted my blood to heal his leukemia.”

  Fiona emitted a silvery laugh. “He has no interest in being healed, trust me. He'd rather wallow in his creation. Bathe himself in it.” She reached over to a rack of test tubes and plucked two others out. “Sometimes I add in Failure and Regret just to mix it up, but you're the thing he wants most.”

  She injected the contents of both tubes into his shunt.

  As if on cue, Fenn let out a keening moan.

  “Must be hitting his system now. He's lucky to have me.”

  Seffy's shocked eyes sought escape.

  Her gaze went to the orange light outlining the inner door. “What is this place?” she whispered, half to herself.

  “God, you always were a bit slow. Fugere is where people come to die.”

  Her pulse increased. “Fenn told me Fugere means 'refuge.' Why would people find refuge in death?”

  “Duh. When they've given up, whether they realize it or not.”

  Seffy swallowed. “So does that make you the devil?”

  Fiona laughed again. “As if.”

  “Is Fenn?”

  Fiona rolled her eyes. “Of course not. The devil doesn't need to waste his time with this place. The residents damn themselves enough as it is.”

  Some truth was tantalizingly close, but it eluded her. “Some residents, maybe. But some of us were brought here against our will.”

  “Oh, please. Shall I go down the list? Gareth is here because he's had a crisis of identity, Addison because she'll never obtain what she desires, and Lani because what she believes in is an illusion.” Fiona wiped her bloody hand on her pants. “Malone lost faith in the cause. Olga is bound by loss. And Popov craved power above all. They all think it's temporary. But they became marked the moment they lost hope.”

  Seffy wondered where Fiona and Fenn fit in the list. Then she followed that train of thought to the end. “What about me?”

  Fiona shook her head. “Oh, God, you're the worst. Your misery was such that you dragged your friends here with you even before their time. Honestly I don't know how you live with yourself. It's like you're a magnet for diseases of the soul.”

  The coppery smell of blood assaulted Seffy's nose. Through a blur of hot tears, she looked down at the thick blood leaking from the injection site in Fenn's arm, dripping onto the floor where it sizzled and foamed on the stained linoleum.

  But what about my time with Trent? Doesn't that count for something? I wasn't miserable with him.

  She caught her breath. What if my misery brought him here? Her knees weakened as a new thought slammed into brain.

  Did he die because of me?

  Her eyes flashed to where Fiona stood. A smug smile curved the woman's lips while she dangled the needle by the plunger from between her fingers. Back and forth it went, splattering residual drops of blood on the chipped and curled floor tiles below.

  Seffy clutched her chest and looked wildly around the room.

  When the sight of pastel lights permeated her brain, her breathing began to slow.

  I'm in the Light Room. It was just a dream.

  Something stiff shifted under her hand. She glanced down and saw a photograph caught under her palm. Seffy picked it up and smoothed out the crimp. Trent's face looked up at her from the photo. Most of the dream had faded, but one question remained.

  Did Trent die because of me? Because I became marked the moment I lost hope?

  Chapter Twelve

  Seffy headed to Olga's, wondering if there was something to stop the horrific dreams plaguing her sleep.

  Narcotics were probably out of the question. Maybe something holistic. Or organic. Heck, even over-the-counter.

  But she wasn't fooling herself. Bad dreams didn't keep her tossing and turning at night. It was guilt.

  What could she have done differently that night of the Christmas party? She was the one who brought up the damn snow. Because of her they went outside. Because of her, Trent was dead.

  Was I marked?

  Seffy plucked at the strings on the hoodie as she traversed the halls. If only she could turn back the clock.

  For the first time since Trent's death, she allowed the events of that evening to roll through her mind. What had gone wrong that night? In the past she'd 'seen' things. Heck, she was practically prophetic. How had she not foreseen Jared's deed?

  She'd foreseen the cat's death, she'd had some prophetic vision about Fenn hooked up to tubes, to name just a few.

  Seffy stumbled.

  The dream.

  When she and Trent had been in the hospital in the tangent universe. The dream where Trent died in the snow. Face down, without her touch.

  Her knees gave way as she reached out to the wall for support. It took several minutes of purposeful breathing to keep the buzzing at bay—to keep the horror of that dream from blackening her heart.

  She reminded herself Trent hadn't been alone this time.

  Olga was right. He hadn't died alone from a drug overdose in some West Hollywood back alley. And he hadn't died alone in the snow.

  The realization was cold comfort.

  Seffy sagged against the wall. A crinkle in her pocket brought her out of the fog of disturbing memories. She pulled out her favorite photo of Trent and stared at it until she brought her emotions under control.

  From there, she touched his wedding band where it hung from a chain, along with the rhinestone J zipper pull from her first Juicy Couture tracksuit, and the key she'd found in Jared's room.

  I have photos. I have his ring. I have his love in my heart.

  But was it enough? She closed her eyes. What do I do now, Trent? Where do I go from here? I'm so lost without you.

  She held her breath as if an answer might drift into her consciousness from the Beyond. But the only thing she heard was the pounding of her pulse, driving home the reality that she didn't have a clue what to do next.

  Time to find Olga for that medication.

  ***

  Gareth's pen rolled away from where he'd placed it on the desk in his room.

  He looked up as a now-familiar rumble sounded beneath his feet. “Dammit!”

  Addison tilted her head from where it rested on her knees. She'd been curled up on the corner of his couch for days, saying little, and yet making him feel vaguely nervous. “What?”

  “Addison, I'm sure you can feel the earthquake.”
<
br />   She gave a listless shrug. “Nothing new. Feels like a little one anyway.”

  “Yeah, well, even though this compound is probably as solid as a rock, at some point the constant shaking will cause damage.”

  “This place is already crack'd, in case you haven't noticed.”

  Gareth firmed his lips, not wanting to get into a protracted argument he wouldn't win anyway. “It's just hard to work on this time-travel project with all the shaking going on.”

  “Why are you so gung-ho now about time-travel and not months ago?” She looked down at her feet. “Maybe Trent would be alive if we'd been able to go back earlier.”

  “Maybe Trent would be alive if Jared hadn't shot him,” Gareth said, flaring.

  Addison regarded him with a steady gaze. “You said you wanted him dead. You were talking to Jared for a long time at that stupid Christmas party.”

  His eyes widened at the sudden change of subject. “Oh, so I was plotting with a loser to off another loser. Sounds fun, but no, that's not what happened.”

  “Then what did?”

  Gareth shoved away from the desk and stood. “You know what, Addison? I'm getting sick of being the bad guy here. My crime is trying to protect Seffy. And I won't apologize for that. Besides, with that kind of logic, you might as well say Trent's dead because Lani wanted a Christmas party.”

  Addison's green eyes filled with tears, taking him by surprise.

  Biting back a curse, he lowered his voice. “Addy, why are you crying?”

  Her hands gripped her knees as if she were holding on for dear life. “Because Trent is dead!”

  He tried to make sense of her statement. He really did. But nothing came. No light. No revelation. “I don't get it,” he said, his tone flat. “You hated him almost as much as I did. I don't get where all this regret comes from.”

  Addison shook her head, her tears drying as her expression hardened. “How can you say you want to protect Seffy when you're glad her husband is dead? How can you take comfort in her loss?”

  “How can you not see the obvious, Addison? Seffy is better off without him!”

  “No, she's not. She's as lost as I am now!”

  Gareth put his hand to his head, feeling a migraine coming on. “I don't understand you anymore. I've tried. God knows I've tried. But now I doubt I ever did.”

  Addison got up off the couch, glaring at him from anguish-filled eyes. “No. You never have.” She swept past him toward the door. “And it's the most honest thing I've heard you say in a long time.”

  As she exited, Lani came in. “Where are you going?”

  “Somewhere else,” the redhead said, derision evident in her voice.

  Lani closed the door then turned to Gareth. “Everything okay?”

  He shrugged, too exhausted to initiate a rehash of the conversation. But her furrowed brow caught his attention. “What's up?”

  She blew out a sigh, still frowning. “Seffy said Jared told her Verity was behind the time-travel thing.”

  His headache forgotten, he straightened. “What?”

  “I know, right? It makes no sense!”

  Gareth shoved a hand through his hair. “Lani, I have to say Seffy must be confused on this issue...” It was on the tip of his tongue to mention the Thorazine, but he held back.

  “She didn't seem confused.” Her unsettled blue eye regarded him. “But how could it be possible?”

  “That's what I'm trying to say. It can't.”

  “Where did you meet her?”

  “Verity?” Renewed pain began to throb over his eye. “You already know that. I met her at the gym. We connected. I invited her over to dinner to meet you girls.”

  Lani drifted over to the couch and sat down, her face twisted with questions. “It was like one day she wasn't there and the next, she was.”

  “Yeah, that's how those things go.”

  The brunette seemed impervious to sarcasm. “Did she seem to take any extra interest in Seffy?”

  “Lani, I don't know what you're getting at. It's late, I'm tired, and Seffy...isn't thinking straight.”

  “Just answer the question.”

  He threw up his hands. “I don't know...Verity noticed Seffy had some feelings for me, I guess.”

  “Did she ask you a lot of questions about her?”

  Gareth went very still as the memories came to the fore. Verity had been interested in Seffy, but he'd assumed it was some kind of catty female thing. There were a few times she asked questions that had jarred him.

  Where did you meet her?

  Who are her parents?

  Does she have any family nearby?

  “She did ask some things, Lani, okay? But it doesn't prove anything.

  Lani sent him a hard look. “It proves Verity was not all she seemed.”

  ***

  Seffy paused when she saw a residence door standing open down the hall. Was someone readying to exit their room, then scream bloody murder when they recognized her? Most residents scuttled nervously in the opposite direction when they had the misfortune of crossing her path. But lately she'd noticed a little less nervousness and a whole lot more terror.

  After waiting a full minute, no one emerged past the door. Seffy continued walking and when she came abreast of the door, she peeked inside the room. She didn't see anyone, but she saw what they left behind. An askew mattress stripped of bedclothes, empty hangers scattered across the floor, empty drawers hanging out of the dresser at crazy angles, and the general vibe that someone left in a hurry.

  Wish I was you.

  Where did they go? Had they been able to contact family and friends to pick them up? Did they face the uncertainty of the desert alone? Maybe there were helicopter rides out of the area. Apparently only she and her friends were constrained by the erupting pink sky. Apparently they couldn't leave barring some temporal miracle.

  Seffy remembered Trent wanting to put off any new escape attempts for a month after they were married. Had there been any missed opportunities? Was there a chance they could've found a way to leave? Would he still be alive then?

  Mashing her lips together, she forced her brain out of its well-worn groove. Asking questions did no good. She'd been asking them all her life despite rarely finding satisfactory answers.

  But shifting her thoughts didn't suppress the ache in her heart—along with the overwhelming knowledge that she was alone and adrift and still stuck where she'd started.

  Seffy turned the corner to the hall which led to Olga's residence. She passed a few more open doors. Geez, was anyone left at the compound?

  After arriving at Olga's door, she raised her hand to knock, but noticed the door wasn't latched. She hesitated, wondering if the nurse had cleared out, too.

  Seffy experienced jumbled feelings at the notion. True, Olga had nursed her back to health many times. But she'd also experimented on Trent—shooting him up with bad blood. Deliberately poisoning him until he died and needed resuscitation.

  Or had she made that extra month possible? What if bringing him back that first time had been pure dumb luck?

  One thing she did know, Trent was never coming back now.

  Seffy pressed her hand against her heart where it floundered beneath her rib cage. Fluttering and skipped beats were the new norm. Maybe heartbreak was a physical thing.

  She knocked quickly, needing the distraction. When no one answered, she pushed the door open and called out.

  Olga's welcoming Victoriana décor beckoned, as did the large overstuffed couch.

  Deciding to rest a few minutes before beginning the long trek back to her room, Seffy went inside and eased onto the couch. With any luck, the nurse would be back soon. She couldn't have gone far after leaving her door unlatched.

  After a few minutes, Seffy figured it was silly to wait. She wanted a headache pill, and undoubtedly, Olga had them in bulk. After her lapse with the sleeping pills, all the meds had been removed from her room.

  She went into the bathroom—half expect
ing to see a crochet doll cover over a roll of toilet paper—and poked around over and under the sink, but didn't find anything. Not even a bottle of aspirin.

  Next she headed for the kitchen. Perhaps Olga stored them on the windowsill as she looked out on a sylvan scene of flora and fauna while she did the dishes. Seffy snorted at the notion, then came to a stop when she realized a curtain was hanging in the entrance to the kitchen.

  Was that there before? She pushed it aside and walked into the small area that also contained a dinette set—with a fancy-looking microscope and stack of medical files on the table.

  “Bringing work home from the office?” she murmured as she approached the files. Unfamiliar names marked the tabs when she took a peek.

  Seffy turned her attention toward the kitchen counters. No medicine bottles—along with any windows—were in sight. She peeked in the cupboards, then put her hands on her hips and looked around. A small door on one side of the kitchen caught her eye. Did Olga keep her over-the-counter medicines in the pantry?

  She crossed the room and opened the door. Except there was just a wall—a wall that was another door with a lock. A familiar feeling of apprehension unfurled in her gut. Her fingers went to the small key on the chain. Wouldn't it be something if...

  On impulse she took the key and fitted it in the lock.

  The tumblers released.

  Whoa.

  Why would Olga have a hidden room? Did most or even all compound residences come equipped? Perhaps Gareth and the girls had never discovered theirs. And why the hell did Jared have a key to this room?

  The real question is, do I want to know where this leads?

  Her hand pushed against the panel of its own volition.

  Despite the gloom, she had a sense of a vast space.

  Reaching around the wall, she found the light switch and flipped it. Long florescent lights began flickering on over a narrow area at least the size of two residences put together. But the size didn't arrest her attention—it was the workbenches filled with rows and rows of test tubes, commercial grade microscopes, beakers, Bunsen burners, condensers, centrifuges, and all manner of complicated science equipment she didn't have names for. Supply carts overflowed with blood collection paraphernalia and rolling cabinets were stuffed with file folders demarcated with colored tabs.