Driven

by Robert J. Crane

  My mind whirred along. “Kinda the same,” I lied. But not really, because whenever I got involved in a case, people did tend to die.

  “Oh,” she said. “My uncle … “ She looked at the seat back in front of her. “He was one of the few people in our family to leave our little town. He became a college professor up in the Cities.” She smacked her lips together. “He was that guy when I was a kid—you know, favorite uncle, basically. The one who understood me when no one else did.” There were tears lurking behind those eyes. “You ever have someone like that?”

  “Uh … “ I searched my memory. When I was a kid, it was me and mom, and that was all. “Sure,” I lied, because why not add another one. “Everybody’s got that one relative that understands them when no one else does.” Another lie, sorta. My mom might have understood me, but she didn’t make much effort to be empathetic about it. Coldly manipulative in order to keep me in bounds, that was more her strategy. It worked; I was still alive. Thus far.

  “I can’t believe he’s gone,” she said, and sniffled. She turned to look at me, wearing a faint smile. “I’m so sorry,” she said, dabbing her eye with the sleeve of her flannel shirt. “I’m about to cry at a stranger on a bus.”

  “That’s honestly one of the least uncomfortable things you could do to me,” I said. “I mean, you haven’t put the armrest up and invaded my personal space yet, you haven’t fallen asleep drooling on my shoulder. Having a little catharsis in my presence? That’s not too bad as these things go.”

  She let out a hiccupy little laugh then sobbed and stuck out her hand at me. “I’m Anna Benson.”

  “I’m … Sarah,” I said, shaking hers for just a second before breaking off.

  “I love your hair,” she said, looking at the dyed mass on my head. It definitely wasn’t my natural shade. “And your ink … is really cool.”

  “Thank you,” I said, remembering I actually had a facial tattoo now. “It … seemed like a good idea at the time.”

  “It’s good,” she said, and her eyes flicked away. “I want a new tattoo.” She slid her right sleeve up, and sure enough, there was a pretty decent rendering of a bear there. Then she slid her left sleeve up, and there was a kind of tribal marking. “I’ve got a few others scattered around. Kinda cliché, but—you know, tramp stamp, ankle—I’d have more, but … kids.” She shrugged. “They’re expensive.”

  “The tattoos or the kids?” I asked with a half-smile.

  “Both,” she said, almost laughing. “But … mostly the kids. I’ve got three.”

  “I’d heard kids were expensive,” I said dryly. “One of the main reasons I haven’t had any yet. Also, I’ve never found a guy I’ve spent enough time with to consider it.”

  She looked at me, like she was thinking something over. “Did you, uh … leave someone behind here recently?”

  I nodded slowly and did a little sniffle of my own. “I did.”

  “You’ve kinda got the look. Of a breakup, you know.” Anna shifted to an immediate concern-face, her own sadness drying up as she had mine to contemplate. “Is it for good or …?”

  “For good, yeah, I think,” I said, trying not to sniffle. “We just … hit a point of no return, I guess. I’m who I am, and he … said he couldn’t … “ I didn’t really know how to finish that, so I just shrugged and looked at my hands in my lap.

  “That sucks,” she said. “I’ve been with my husband for … fifteen years now? God,” her eyes rolled up as she thought about it. “Has it been that long? Wow.” She rubbed her nose and sniffled, her flannel sleeves now hanging down so I could see her tattoos. They really were impressive work. “It went so fast.”

  “Yeah, time years flies like that,” I said. “I mean, ten years ago, I was … “ Locked in mother’s house. Still a kid. Ignorant of the world.

  “It’s kinda sad,” Anna said, lowering her voice conspiratorially, “but going to this funeral? It feels like a vacation after all these years of raising kids and being mom and—I don’t think I’ve gone anywhere without them. And I’m always sleeping in one of their beds, or getting woken up in the middle of the night to come fill up someone’s water cup or clean up someone’s vomit or pee—”

  “You’re not exactly selling me on motherhood, here.”

  She brushed my arm, eyes going wide. “No, it’s good! Really! There’s so much to love about parenting. It’s just … “ She collapsed into giggles. “I haven’t had a full night’s sleep in a decade. I’m going to a funeral for my favorite uncle, and I might actually catch up on sleep.”

  I couldn’t help but smile. And casually remove my arm from beneath her fingers, before my powers could go to work on stealing her soul. I scratched myself nonchalantly in an effort to make it look like I wasn’t trying to escape her grasp. “Difficult but worth it, that’s what you’re saying?”

  “Yeah,” Anna said, letting out a little breath. “That’s what I’m saying. It’s just … you know, three kids, little sleep … it gets tiring after a while.”

  “What does?” I asked.

  “Life,” Anna said soberly. “You know what I mean? Life wears you down. That’s the problem with the daily grind—you get ground up.”

  Anna grew quiet, and I tried to put that in the context of my life. I didn’t really have a daily grind, and hadn’t for a while. Every day was waking up, trying to find things to do to fill my days while I waited for Harry to say we needed to move on again, or to ask him if we could go to the grocery store—a lot of times we couldn’t, because we risked my being seen.

  When I’d started out on the run with him as my partner in crime in January, we’d gone out and done things. He’d had to curb me from more than a few activities because he could always see when I was going to get recognized, but …

  Things had gotten worse in the last few months. More gentle shakes of his head letting me know that if I went out, I’d get caught.

  That had worn on me, like what Anna was talking about. It wasn’t a daily routine; it was a soul-killing experience, trying to figure out things you could do to escape the apartment without getting reported to the cops and bringing down the heat.

  I’d lived my whole life up to almost age eighteen in solitary seclusion in my mother’s house. Now I was on the run from the law, and hell if I hadn’t gotten myself into a similar situation. Just about every day I now had to remain inside, staring out, only my boyfriend and a parade of dreamwalk guests for company as I hid from the law.

  “It really does grind you down,” I said absently, and Anna nodded. She, too, had been lost in her own thoughts for a while, and we both went quiet for another spell.

  I thought about Harry. He really had been my salvation. How many times had he saved me from getting caught in the last few months? If I’d followed my instincts and let my stir-craziness drive me? I’d have had to move around a dozen times just to feel … safe.

  Harry had made me feel safe. Confined, but safe.

  Now … it was all uncertainty, all the time. My throat felt like it was closing up on me, and I gripped the hand rest on the window side, trying not to tip Anna to the fact that I was suddenly feeling the regret for the choice I’d made.

  We passed through Owatonna and made the turn north. Anna stayed silent, staring straight ahead, lost in thought. Part of me wanted to say something, but I kept thinking of Harry, and she must have had her own thoughts to keep her occupied, because she just sat there and stared off into space, a hand brushing right below her collarbone, like she was stroking an imaginary necklace.

  We were a little outside of the cities, passing through Apple Valley, when she sniffled and leaned over close to me. “I’m not sure how to say this,” she was whispering, “but you don’t look like a Sarah.”

  I frowned. That was a funny thing to say. “Oh?”

  “I know why you’re tired … Sienna.”

  I pulled away from her, panic crashing through my veins as my brain instantly formed a plan: crash through the window of the bus, roll
out onto the highway, start running—

  Anna touched my hand, just for a second, and it was pure reassurance. She was looking me right in the eye, and I returned the favor. She held up her hands, then leaned in closer to whisper again. “I’m not … going to turn you in or anything.”

  “Thanks,” I said, not really sure what else to say.

  “Coming back to Minneapolis is a really bad idea, though,” she said, and looked up at me. “People are going to recognize you here. I did, and I mean … I’m halfway out of it thinking about my uncle.”

  Shit. “I know, but … I had to come,” I said, swallowing heavily. She cocked her head in curiosity. “A friend of mine … they’re in trouble.”

  She nodded slowly. “That’s … noble, helping a friend. Seems like you help a lot of people.”

  I almost laughed. “You have no idea.” How long had I been on the run? A year and a half? And how many times had I had to pony up and get involved in saving other people or the world, even while a fugitive?

  A frigging ton.

  “You’ve done a lot of good for a lot of people, it seems like to me,” Anna said. “I’m not going to tell anyone on you, but …” She looked at my face. “I don’t think that disguise is going to work long.”

  “None of them do,” I said, letting out a slow breath.

  “You should go back to hiding,” she said.

  “I can’t,” I said. “I mean, I will once this is over with but … I can’t right now. Someone needs my help.” Miranda and Angel needed me. And I needed …

  If I was being honest … I needed to help them, because doing this thing? This thing I did, helping people, fighting evil?

  It was the only thing that kept me from feeling like I really was back in solitary confinement in my mother’s house.

  “There’s Minneapolis,” Anna said, and I squirmed to look between the seats and forward, through the front windshield.

  Sure enough, there it was, towers gleaming in the summer sun. I hadn’t seen it for four or five months, since I’d driven downtown on a winter day and tried to kick the Terminator’s meta ass all over 6th Avenue and Nicollet Mall. It looked the same as ever, but that feeling I usually got, that warm … kind of pleasant one … the one that told me I was …

  Home?

  That was strangely missing, replaced by a drawn tension. Every muscle in my body was taut, sitting there next to Anna, who’d gone quiet again, contemplating … death, life, her uncle … sleep, maybe? It could have been any one of a million things, but I didn’t want to bother her.

  My fear, though, was that it was not any of those things that was commanding her thoughts.

  My fear was … after months of having Harry to watch my back …

  Was that now I was exposed. Now I had no certainty about when another Anna would recognize me, would realize that Sienna Nealon was HEY, RIGHT THERE! And that the next person might not share her compunction. That they’d call the cops, and I’d been up to my neck in shit again, having to run.

  This was the new normal, I realized, a cold, clammy feeling taking hold of my stomach. The new old normal, the post-Scotland, post-Harry new normal, without my powers or my clairvoyant boyfriend to help keep me out of trouble.

  And sitting on that bus, rolling toward Minneapolis, I didn’t feel the warmth of heading home.

  I only felt sick at what my life had become.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Ikept my head down when I got off the bus, saying only a quick goodbye to Anna, who met an older lady and walked off from the bus depot, the cloud that had fallen over her face telling me she’d returned to reality, mental vacation—if she ever actually took one—left behind on the bus. I doubted she’d be squealing on me, but the possibility was ever-present, and so I was on my guard as I walked past endless buses and out into the parking lot, half expecting to hear a siren at any time.

  It didn’t come.

  Angel was waiting next to an old Corvette, leaning against it as I walked up to her with my big bag of disguises and stuff on my shoulder. Wordlessly, she popped the trunk, and I tossed my stuff in, and we got in the car without exchanging a syllable.

  As I sank into the seat, she fired it up and backed out with precision. I watched her do it; she was pretty expert. I remembered vaguely from the dossier on her that Miranda had originally forwarded me after Angel’s hiring, that her powers were of the Reflex-type. Perfect muscle control, which meant she could fight like a fiend, shoot like a master, throw blades perfectly on target, and also drive like an expert.

  I was seeing that now as the Corvette came smoothly out of the parking space and then she shifted into drive and blew out of the bus depot parking lot like other people and cars were a mere inconvenience not to be worried about.

  I did find cause to worry, though, especially when she missed clipping an incoming bus by about ten inches, prompting the driver to lay on the horn.

  “You’re not going to save Miranda by getting us killed,” I said, tensing in my seat.

  She blew air between her lips dismissively. “If we die, it’s not going to be in a car wreck. Trust me on that.”

  “Good,” I said, “because I’ve seen Thelma and Louise, and it was never among my life goals.”

  She didn’t quite laugh at that, but it did produce a smirk.

  “Where do we start?” I asked.

  “Good question,” she said, one hand on the wheel. She looked over at me. “Any ideas?”

  “I have lots of ideas. Most of them revolve around starting a short-order burger joint that serves mayo on their fries, because honestly—ketchup is ass.”

  Angel’s face allowed the trace of a smile to curl the corner of her mouth as she downshifted, the light ahead of us going red. “I meant about—”

  But before she could start with anything, the Corvette thumped as someone hit us from behind. Not very hard, thankfully, but it was a nice little fender bender, and a shudder ran through the car as we bumped forward.

  “Damn,” Angel said, still gripping the wheel. “Talk about bad timing.” She threw open the car door.

  “Just be glad we weren’t driving something more modern,” I said, hands planted on the dashboard. “That would have set off the airbags for sure.” I glanced back. It was a mid-sized SUV that had clipped us, and in the shadow of the headlights I could see a guy getting out on the driver’s side. I peered at his shadow, and it hit me with a sense of foreboding. “Maybe … we should just go.”

  “The last thing we need right now,” she said, meta-low to where only I could hear it, “is to get the cops called on us for a drive-off. I’m already in a stolen vehicle and haven’t had a chance to swap out yet, so let’s just keep things mellow while I exchange insurance with this guy, and we’ll be off.” She stood just outside the door, looking at the back of the car. “Besides, this doesn’t look too b—”

  She didn’t even finish before a blast of red energy shredded through the car between us, sending sparks and heat past me as it cleaved the vehicle in half. I had my door open and was bailing in a hot second, and when I rolled to my feet, I noticed a second figure—this one feminine and slender and with long hair—had stepped out of the SUV behind us.

  The Corvette hung in place for a second, then made a skidding noise as the engine died and it fell apart, weight pressing the tires out as it collapsed into two halves from the energy beam that had neatly sliced through it.

  My eyes were drawn to the lady on the passenger side—the source of the energy beam. She was lit by the street lamps above, and her lips were fixed in a cold smile. She wore a heavy brown overcoat even in the summer heat.

  “No, no, no,” she said, grinning, her English heavily accented. Between that and her darker complexion, I had a feeling she came from south of the border. There was no joy in her grin; she looked more as if she were baring her teeth.. “Your insurance has been … declined. I am afraid I am going to have to ask you … to pay up.” She stepped forward, into the light of the SUV’s hea
dlamps, and shit, she had some malice behind that smile. “You are going to have to pay … right now.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  Angel

  Houston, Texas

  Four Years Ago

  “Being a lawyer isn’t anything like I expected it was going to be,” Miranda said over the low laughter of the people around the small table. “I mean, I thought I was going to be in court every day, but really, you barely ever go. It’s all paperwork.” Her eyes were lively as she stared across the table at Angel, like she was letting her cousin in some great secret. “Paperwork, paperwork, paperwork. And meetings! God, the meetings. I thought I’d be arguing great cases in front of the Supreme Court, and instead it’s … “ She covered her mouth and yawned. “But, hey, a lot of my graduating class is either unemployed or chasing ambulances, so … “ She shrugged, and looked at the man sitting next to her. “And … every once in a while, you pick up a … fringe benefit.”

  “Oh, am I a fringe benefit?” Jorge Sanchez was tall and dark-haired, and if Miranda’s eyes were dancing, Jorge’s were doing the conga. His laughter had been silvery at the last joke, and Angel had had to admit …

  Her cousin didn’t do too bad this time. Jorge was a big improvement over the last few boyfriends she’d stumbled into.

  “Now that you’re not a client anymore and I can date you, yes,” Miranda said, leaning in and exchanging a quick kiss with him. Angel averted her eyes, not because it necessarily bothered her, the public display of affection, but it seemed … improper somehow to gawk. Once done, Miranda turned her attention back to Angel. “What about you, mi prima? How goes the restaurant business?”

  Angel shrugged, looking around the empty restaurant. It was a quiet little cucina in a strip mall in Pinehurst. “We’ve only been open for a few weeks, but … “ Angel tried to keep her smile under control. The financials were a mess, but the work itself? Pure bliss. “I’m hoping it all works out. People are starting to show up. A couple of regulars, even.”