Lunatic Fringe

by TL Schaefer

  He murmured my name on a ghost of a whisper and dove in, taking control, kissing me as if our very lives depended on it.

  I arched against him, needing contact, and as soon as our bodies truly aligned he went rigid, as if the contact had seared him right down to his bones.

  “Jesus, Monica,” he breathed against my lips, his hands moved down from twisting in my hair to frame my face. It made me feel tiny. Precious in a way I’d never felt. “How long have you felt this way?” I knew exactly what he was asking. How long had I been attracted to him? How long had I fought against the pull both of us obviously felt?

  I remembered Joe’s words of just a few days ago. How Heath had always wanted me. Now all I felt was the clarity of revelation, and it was as if something inside had broken free, then clicked home. Like a puzzle piece that had been shoved into the wrong place.

  “I don’t know,” I admitted. “A long time, longer than I’d like to admit.” I’d been married, after all, even if Joe and I hadn’t shared a bed in too long. I tried to find a bit of humor in all this. “It certainly explains our aggression toward each other, though.”

  He laughed softly in response and pulled me back against him, this time in a body-enveloping hug. I softened against him and felt the strength of him, felt his arousal pressing against my belly.

  I had done that to him, this man of secrets and ice, and while we wouldn’t, couldn’t do anything about it in the here and now, I knew that Heath Farrell and I would be finishing up what we’d started in the very near future, as soon as we figured out where the hell we were and what, if any, actions we could take.

  In the meantime, though, I was going to hold onto this for a few minutes more, soak it in and keep it close.

  We stayed like that for what felt like a glorious eternity, sharing warmth and something deeper than passion. Contentment rumbled through Heath, a sleepy beast that had slumbered for too long, and I latched onto that feeling, feeding it, banishing the aches and pains that had no place in our cocoon.

  When Heath finally let me go, his voice sounded almost sleepy. “My headache is gone.”

  And that quickly, memories flooded through my mind. Of kittens and puppies and the occasional playmate, of warmth cascading through me as I poured it into an injury, of feeling the tiniest bit of myself going with it. Of sitting in the psychiatrist’s office, being “healed.” And of losing a sense of self so deep it made what I’d felt just seconds ago hollow and incomplete.

  I pulled away from Heath with a gasp, my thoughts a jumble.

  “What?” he asked as he swung around and put my back to the wall as he faced the door and a threat he thought I’d seen.

  “I know what I am,” I whispered as tears pricked my eyes.

  Jesus, how had I ever become a cop? How had I ever held a weapon in my hand? Taken a life?

  He reached back and grasped my hand, still shielding me. In seconds, his intuition proved true. Shadows crowded the light filtering beneath the door, and then it opened, making us squint. A person was silhouetted in the doorway, lean and on the short side, but featureless in the backlight. He or she pushed a cart in front of them with something, a television, maybe, on it.

  The cart rolled into the room, and then the figure stepped back, closing the door behind them even as Heath began to move, to charge the door. But it had all happened too quickly, and the cart was in his way. The door clicked shut with finality just as he reached it, and we could hear a lock engaging on the other side, likely a deadbolt or something similar we couldn’t access from this side, leaving us blinded by the light and just as helpless as we’d been moments ago.

  “Fuck,” Heath spat. I heard him give the door an ineffectual yank as I moved toward the cart. A flat-screen sat on the cart. I tried to lift it as Heath joined me, but it was bolted to the cart. I felt beneath the anchoring. Industrial bolts, tightened so there was no way we could undo them with our fingers.

  Heath had come to the same conclusion, and as our eyes began to reacclimate to the low light, I saw him feeling along the floorboards. He grunted. “Got one. Can you wheel it over?”

  I pushed the cart his way and traced the back of the monitor until I found the power cord, then handed it to him.

  “Turn away from the screen,” he said, and bent to plug it in.

  I did as he’d asked, and new, white light illuminated the wall I was staring at, the double bed pressed against the far wall, the lack of anything to use as a weapon.

  I let my eyes adjust for a few seconds and then turned, and my heart stopped in my chest.

  Tori lay on a bed eerily similar to the one in this room, curled into the fetal position, fast asleep. I reached out to touch the screen, tracing the fatigue on her face, the dark circles under her eyes, and I knew then that I was going to kill whoever had done this to her, to us. It didn’t matter that I was a healer. I was going to fucking maim them first. Slowly. And then I’d annihilate them.

  Heath moved behind me and drew in a harsh breath. “Dammit, Monica. What the fuck is happening?”

  “I don’t know,” I said, “but I get the impression we’re about to find out.”

  Truer words had never been said.

  “Welcome to your new home.” The voice came to us as I finished my sentence. For a second, I thought it was from the monitor, that someone was in the room with my child and rage sliced through me with razor claws. Then I realized it had come from above.

  Heath and I looked up at the same time, and in the new light of the monitor we could see a recessed speaker.

  Our captor had a voice like expensive honey, thick and smooth, sweet enough to make your teeth ache.

  Heath’s jaw clenched, hard, and by the light of the television I saw his expression turn to pure ice.

  “Hello, Grace,” he said, and I shivered at the glacial quality to his tone.

  The Iceman was back, and as I looked at the television, watching my sleeping daughter, I was fucking grateful.

  I took a deep breath and turned my attention from Tori to Heath and our captor.

  “Grace?” I asked, knowing the answer even before I asked.

  “My half-sister.” His words came out like bullets.

  “This is fantastic. The long game, finally come into its final act. Hero Heath and Marvelous Monica, under my command.”

  I wanted to hear a thread of madness in her voice, but only heard delight and surety. She knew exactly what she was doing.

  “What do you want, Grace?”

  Her voice went hard now. “The child of your union, of course. Now get to it and I won’t hurt the girl.”

  What had she just said? I stared at Heath, but his dumbfounded expression likely matched mine. And then her words registered and the bottom of my stomach fell out. The child of our union. The wording was a bit archaic, but the reality of it was clear. She wanted us to fuck, make a baby, and give it to her, and in return she wouldn’t hurt Tori.

  Heath had lost the stunned look. Now a fine thread of tension ran through him, almost like a live wire that vibrated where we were touching.

  “I always knew you were ambitious, Grace, but this is outrageous, even for you.”

  She laughed, and it was almost lighthearted before going calculating. “You have no idea of what I’m capable of, brother. Hugh gambled when he gave you CASI, and the world lost. You’ve turned it into a liberal arts school.”

  Disdain dripped from her words, and in my head, everything clicked into place. Everything that had happened in the last year had been orchestrated by Grace.

  “Now get to it.” A sharp click came from the overhead, as if she’d cut the connection. Maybe she had, maybe she hadn’t. I guess it didn’t really matter.

  “Why?” I whispered, not really meaning for it to be aloud.

  “Because I was Hugh’s favorite,” Heath answered, his gaze dropping from the ceiling to my face. “Because she’s Talented in her own right, and a fucking psychopath to boot. I know why. I want to know how she did it, and why
I didn’t see it.”

  He ran a hand through his military-short hair, barely ruffling the cut, but dispelling the image of the Iceman with that simple, frustrated gesture.

  I ripped my attention away from him to my daughter, still asleep, still oblivious to the fact she was there because of me.

  “How in the hell are we going to get out of this, Heath?”

  Chapter Ten

  WHAT CAME BEFORE...

  You know how they show you basic training in the movies, and you’re always getting yelled at, and running everywhere and scarfing down food in about thirty seconds, and then marching and marching and marching. Yeah, they got it right.

  I was sore, tired of being yelled at, and whatever we’d hoovered at dinner was sitting like a rock in my stomach. It was my second day in the Air Force.

  The exhausted chick on the bunk next to me was a pimply faced little thing from New Jersey. We’d barely spoken two words to each other, but the looks we’d shared had been of pure commiseration.

  It seemed my eyes had barely shut before something was making a horrendous banging sound. I pulled my head out from beneath my pillow and saw my technical instructor banging on a trash can lid. Her name tape said Millington, but I’d renamed her the Harpy Bitch in my mind.

  Her red, red lips were pulled back in a snarl. “Get the fuck up! What are you, deaf?” She banged on the lid a few more times, then got down in my face. “What part of get the fuck up did you misunderstand, princess?”

  I took a deep, deep breath and sat up slowly, her scowling face retreating as I rose, keeping about an inch between us. Jesus, how was I ever gonna get out of this?

  And so Day Three began.

  Now, undisclosed location...

  I sat on the bed, head in my hands while Heath prowled restlessly from the door to the bed to the door again in an unending loop. We were ninety-nine percent sure there was a camera on us, and I really didn’t give a shit.

  I tried to be angry at Heath, but all I could really summon was utter despair.

  I thought I’d been in untenable situations before. Iraq. Afghanistan. Even as a cop in Dallas. Last year in Denver.

  Nothing, not one damned thing, had prepared me for this. For a hopelessness I was afraid would never go away.

  I looked at the monitor again. Tori was still asleep. Maybe drugged with Simple Simon like we’d been. Didn’t matter. I couldn’t see any way out of this.

  Our friends had no idea where we were. Who knew where our phones were? Probably tossed from an overpass somewhere, or at the bottom of a lake. Hell, even if they were here, some great big head in the sky could track them, the one guy who could make the call to do it was sitting in here with me. Last I’d heard, the NSA was in charge of domestic secret squirrel shit.

  Kavanaugh just didn’t have the juice or the connections.

  We had nothing but the clothes on our backs.

  The door leading out of our windowless room was solid steel, set in an industrial frame, locked from the outside. Even if we tore apart the bed frame, they’d see us from above, so the element of surprise was a moot point.

  “Would she let Tori go?”

  Heath swung to face me. “If we slept together?” He asked the question carefully.

  I nodded. Tori was my first priority, and if Heath thought Grace would let my girl go, then I’d do just about anything to make it happen. Even sleep with Heath Farrell. Which wouldn’t be the worst thing ever, but really wasn’t on my list of things to do right now.

  He shook his head. “She was careful with her words. She didn’t say she’d free Tori, only that she wouldn’t hurt her. And you and I? We’re stuck here, at least until we figure something out.” He looked up at the silent speaker. “You hear that, Grace? We know you won’t release us, and we’re not going to create a kid for you. You won’t hurt Tori, not if she might be Talented. Move on to the next step in your little game.”

  A wave of relief swept through me.

  I hadn’t thought of that. Had been so consumed with worry over Tori, so fixated on our situation of doom and gloom that I’d forgotten one important piece. This was a long game, and odds were Grace had counted on us being stubborn.

  His declaration was met with silence, but for the first time since we’d awoken, I was fine with that.

  Alone we were smarter than your average bear, and together we could be unstoppable if the opportunity presented itself. Even if we couldn’t openly plan our escape, we’d be ready to capitalize on an advantage—any advantage.

  When the door opened a few minutes later, I wasn’t surprised. But the man who stood in the doorway shocked both Heath and I into stunned silence.

  Lloyd Trang stood outlined by the light behind him, highlighted by the glare from the television to his right, with what was indisputably a shotgun in his hands.

  That was the one weapon guaranteed to make us stay in place. Given the small confines of the room, and the fact Heath was standing right next to the bed, if he unloaded we were both screwed.

  “What the fuck, Lloyd?” Heath demanded, and I could tell it took everything in his body to check himself and not lunge for his ex-bodyguard.

  Trang laughed. It was the first time I’d really seen any kind of emotion from him besides anger when he lost control of a situation, like when a sniper had taken a shot at Summers last year.

  He stayed in the doorway, both barrels pointing our way. I could see his finger on the double trigger, and knew the recoil of pulling both at the same time would knock him on his ass, but it wouldn’t matter, because we’d be dead, or at least so maimed it wouldn’t matter.

  “Hero Heath,” he taunted, “that’s what we’ve always called you.” He turned his attention to me. “And Marvelous Monica, a pain in my ass from the first day I laid eyes on you. We should have killed you in Denver.”

  Heath stiffened beside me as Trang’s words hit him and really sunk in.

  “Now here you both are, at our mercy. What a tragedy for you.” He paused and moved forward as if he was going to step into the room, then hitched back. In the iffy light I could just barely see his face, could see the self-satisfaction carving his expression.

  How in the hell had he fooled all of us? For that long? And why hadn’t they killed me in Denver? We’d never figured that out.

  Beside me Heath had gone preternaturally still, as if he was feeling the very air around us, sensing something neither Trang nor I could.

  Heat seemed to emanate from him, as if his anger was fueling him. I could get on board with that. I was so pissed I could barely see.

  “A deception well played, Lloyd,” Heath said, his words ice cold despite the rage I sensed flowing through him. “Although I’m not quite sure what you got out of it. My kids made it out of Canon City safely thanks to Sara and Roney, and your Russian friends totally screwed the pooch when it came to Denver. Both Monica and Summers bested you. Now you have us and Tori imprisoned here. For what purpose? You know we won’t create this child Grace wants. You haven’t been able to truly outsmart us so far, and you won’t today. Especially now that both of you have shown your hand.”

  He spoke with such confidence I had to wonder what was up his sleeve. Moments ago he’d seemed as despondent as me, and now he acted like Trang wasn’t standing there with two barrels of death and destruction pointed our way.

  Heath smiled, a bare uptick of his lips, and the tiniest bit of terror crawled up my spine. Gods, I hoped he never looked at me like that, with death in his eyes.

  “I hope she was worth it, Trang,” he said, his lips still pulled in that horrific little smile.

  Trang’s expression faltered, and then his eyes went wide before he let out a scream and dropped the shotgun. Flames engulfed his hands, and no matter what he did, they grew and grew and grew until he was almost completely engulfed in an eerie, silent scarlet inferno.

  I grabbed Heath’s arm and began shaking him. Somehow he was doing this. “Stop! Make it stop! You’re killing him!”
/>   He turned to me and it was as if the flames were dancing in his eyes.

  I slapped him across the face. Hard. “Back it the fuck off, Heath.” Because if he didn’t stop, and soon, this whole house was going to go up, with me and Tori in it.

  His expression cleared and he reeled away from me, an appalled expression crossing his face. Then a revulsion so strong I thought he was going to be physically sick.

  The fire died on Trang’s body almost immediately, but the damage was done.

  “Go find my daughter,” I ordered.

  Heath would find Tori, protect her. I had to believe that.

  At this seemingly frozen second in time Trang was a higher priority. We needed to know what he knew to keep Tori safe in the long run. And something inside wouldn’t let me step from his side. Compelled me to heal a man I should hate, who I’d vowed to maim and kill with impunity.

  Those thoughts didn’t stop me from dropping to my knees at his side. I grasped a shoulder that was merely smoking, rather than charred, and channeled every bit of my strength and perceived healing ability into him. For Tori. For all of us. Because this needed to end. Now.

  I screamed as the pain hit me, harder, more visceral than anything I’d ever felt in my life. My vision narrowed to two tiny little pinpricks, then was gone entirely even though I knew my eyes were wide open. My body shook as if I was tapping into a live electrical wire, power and pain and pleasure melding until I couldn’t separate them. Didn’t want to.

  Slowly, slowly, the pain receded and my vision came back.

  A big warm palm caressed my back, up and down, up and down. Soothing, gentling.

  It was Heath, and at his side was Tori, leaning against his body, safe in the hook of his right arm, still unconscious.

  I sat back on my heels and took a deep, cleansing breath, gagging when I realized it smelled like burned flesh.

  Trang lay beside us, breath threading in and out of his chest in shallow gasps, clearly unconscious, but alive. Barely. Third degree burns covered his body, but here and there, and especially on his face, the skin had become shiny, and I knew I’d unconsciously healed what I’d needed to keep him alive, to ensure he could give us the answers we needed.