by Nat Kennedy
Inside, the mind was turbulent, a crazy tangle of thoughts and emotions. Bethany, trapped in her own pained panic, couldn't make out the next intention. All she got was a savage amusement. A kind of glee she'd felt before in the mind of Samantha Branch, the Mistress of Morlocks, the woman who brainwashed an entire town in Arkansas and used them as slaves.
Around her shots barked through the air, the smell of cordite overwhelmed by the Tracers of force magic. From the edges of her awareness, she spotted officers racing for the car.
“Officers down. Officers down.” The words in her ear sucked away her warmth.
“The target is around the side of the red house,” Dabby piped through the mic.
Bethany sneezed, the smells tickling her nose. Using an oak tree as support, she climbed to her feet, keeping most the weight off her bad leg. Mother of God it hurt. She’d been shot once before, three years ago, in the meaty part of her upper arm. Paul’s worry had turned into anger after she hadn’t chosen a desk job following her injury. He’d never understood her need to act, to help people, and pushing paper had never interested her.
Dabby and McPhearson circled the vehicle. The red house was just to her left. A two-story with a white fenced-in yard. Tucked behind the fence in the shadows, Bethany spotted the rounded shape of a hunched over body in a squatting position.
Gun out, she whispered into her mic. “Spotted an individual in backyard. East side. Someone round to the west. Approaching target with caution.” Her muscles flinched as she put pressure on the leg, telegraphing pain up her thigh, through her hip, and along her spine. She nearly dropped, swallowing a gasp.
A linebacker plowed into her side from behind, tackling her to the ground with a lung-expelling slam. A scream escaped through her mouth, sharp, until she swallowed it down, canted her hips and rolled the individual who'd landed on her. Just her luck, the shadow wasn’t the perp. She scooped up the perp's right hand that clung to a handgun and smacked it against the soft lawn. And again. And again, twisting the wrist until the hand went limp, releasing the weapon.
Bloodshot eyes, wide and piercing. A twisted grin on thin lips. A weak jawline. Pale skin.
“It's a man,” she said into her mic. The man smiled, showing yellowed teeth. “In contact. We're between houses, east of the red house.”
“Not so pretty. Not so nice. But I'll make you even prettier,” the man cooed.
“Wolfie, get out of there,” Jameson screamed from a few yards away. “If he's the Green Killer, you've no idea how his Wielding works. Get out of there, now!”
Bethany narrowed her eyes at the man she had immobilized, the pounding pain from the gunshot in her thigh flicking away her reason. She knew she should disengage, but he could run. He could run and kill more girls. Small, helpless girls—like her daughter.
“You have the right to remain silent—” she began but was cut off by the skell's cold, low laughter.
“I've got a clear shot, Wolfe,” Jameson urged. “Get clear. I'm taking it.”
Time was short. She had to know if this was the man. How he Wielded physically. Bethany reached out again, the chime a loud crescendo. She plucked the Nerve and dove into the killer's mind.
They won't get us. They won't get us all. They can't get us. Nobody will get the Order. The Core will protect us. They will fall. Fall to us all.
The Order. The Core.
Then the mind switched, switched from a panicked babble to purposeful intent. Within the mind of the madman, she felt him reach out for the Nerve, and the Nerve was a highway of power, nothing like the piano strings she plucked. She'd never seen this before. Never felt this before.
“Jameson. Shoot him now. Shoot him!”
Despite the wound in her leg, Bethany thrust herself off her foe, a scream tearing from her lips at the agony. The sound of gunshots rang through the night as the Nerve went taut, and within Bethany's mind, she could feel the man’s effort to pluck the Nerve slowly die.
And so did the skell.
~~~
“You let your guard down,” she said to Jameson with little conviction. “I did, too.”
The debriefing had lasted all night after she’d sat through a medical exam and earned a few stitches. Vaguely, Bethany hoped Melanie's recital had gone well, that her little girl had glided across the stage like an angel. She was an angel. Dancing amidst the clouds, floating high overhead.
Jameson let his eyes linger on her wrapped thigh as he nodded, the gesture rocking his body like he was listening to some peppy tune. “He was probably the Green Killer, I just wish we knew for sure.”
“At least nobody got juiced. He didn't attack any of us using the Nerve. Damn it. We'll never know how he did it.” Bethany tensed her leg. The muscle pulled and sparked around the hole in her thigh. “Jameson—” he looked up at her, his eyes as hollow as she felt, “—the power he had. The Nerve he had in his grasp. I'd seen nothing like it ever before. I feel like a charlatan. I've got to work harder. Be prepared.”
“The Order and Core?”
“The heart of the rumors?”
“There are always rumors.” Jameson shook his head. “A mad male gang of Wielders bent on destruction and mayhem?”
Bethany wanted to take his dismissal and stuff it down his throat. “Yeah.” She nodded. “I was in his mind. I think that's what he believed.”
“He was mad.” Jameson's tone was level, logical. It almost swayed her.
“True, but I'm still going to work harder. Better myself. Nice shot by the way.”
Jameson continued his thoughtful nod. “He was an easy target. Well, I'm ground down. I'm going home. Take the day off, spend time with your family.”
Bethany thought about putting on an optimistic smile and nodding, but Jameson was her partner, her best friend, he knew too much and so she'd only be lying to herself. Instead, she sighed. “Not sure if I'm welcome anymore.”
Jameson slapped her gently on the back. “Sure you are. They're your family.”
Jameson left, calling out farewells to the other agents.
Exhaustion kept Bethany from zipping out of there. She went to her desk to gather her purse and other things.
“Great job, Bethany. You helped save that girl,” Dabby said as she left the pen. Bethany waved, not fully paying attention. On the desk was a manila envelope with her name written across the front. She recognized that handwriting. It was Paul's.
She picked it up, her fingers numb. She bent the metal tab and flipped the top flap open. Inside she felt sucked dry. She'd expected an aching dread, but she'd seen it coming. He'd warned her. Given her chances, and she'd ignored him. Trusted in his love for her, his faith in her.
The bundle of papers wasn't as thick as she would have expected. The top one had her name listed, and Paul's, and across the upper margin were the words: Petition for Divorce.
She'd tried to bridge the worlds, but instead, she got stuck in a place between.
The end.
Acknowledgments
Places Between was the original story that started the Wielder World. Now it sits nicely between the first two novellas (Edge of Desperation and Center of Deception) and the upcoming novel (Afflicted to the Core). So, in essence, this is Wielder World 2.5.
I must thank my first readers, Mark, Joe, Dawn, Susan, Terri and countless others, including Owl Editing, who always works her magic.
If you enjoyed Places Between, I hope you’ll check out Afflicted to the Core, the upcoming Wielder World novel. It all starts with Edge of Desperation — (https://goo.gl/2OplKu) Visit http://natkennedy.com for updates on upcoming stories.
e(100%); filter: grayscale(100%); " class="sharethis-inline-share-buttons">share