Strangers of the Night

by Megan Hart

  He felt it when she left the hospital. If he tried a little harder, he’d be able to feel her wherever she went, but doing that would surely rip something inside his head, so he eased back the small tendrils of thought that had connected him to her in the first place. She’d be back tomorrow, he thought just before he passed out on the hard cot, her face the last coherent thought he had.

  Chapter 7

  Samantha could not stop thinking about him.

  After escaping from the hospital that was a prison, she went home only long enough to change into her workout gear. She hit the street as dawn pinked the sky, and though her body cried for sleep, the only way she’d get any was to exhaust herself. She set off on a route that would take her through the park, where she could test herself on soft dirt paths and boulders, then along the riverfront and back home before the early-morning-rush traffic started.

  Since starting at Wyrmwood, she’d shared perhaps a couple dozen conversations with Jed that weren’t related to his medication or treatment. The training and rules had been explicit and strict about having as little contact with the patients as possible. She’d rarely bent the rules and never enough to get any disciplinary action. There was no denying that she felt closer to him than she did any of the others, but she’d always chalked it up to the fact she’d been hired to save his life when the time came. Something like that would naturally lead her to be more...affectionate was not the right word, not even close. Concerned. Protective. Aware?

  She ran harder, leaping a park bench with one foot on the seat and pushing off with the other on the back, then hitting the grass with her fingertips digging into the soft earth before she leaped again. It was ridiculous to think Jed had done anything to the guard. Though there’d been plenty of documentation about what he’d been capable of when he was younger, all the reports Vadim had given her said that Jed’s abilities had begun fading in late adolescence, becoming completely extinct over time.

  It had happened with other members of the commune where he’d been born. Children born with psychokinetic or telepathic talents had been taken away from the Collins Creek farm under the guise of child protective services, but they’d been sent to places like Wyrmwood, not foster care. They’d been held, tested. Of those that had been released in adulthood, none of them had been reported as maintaining their abilities. Most of the ones the Crew had been able to track had suffered from the years of institutionalization. High rates of suicide and crime had followed. Jed was one of the last of the Collins Creek kids the Crew had been able to find.

  She jumped up to grab a low-hanging tree limb and swung out, arching her back. Landing hard. She no longer smelled lavender, but the memory of it wouldn’t leave her. There’d been more than a few times when she’d thought she sensed Jed’s presence while she was at the desk, always looking up, expecting to see him there but finding only empty space. Sometimes, a joke would tickle its way into her head until she laughed aloud.

  Maybe all of that had been Jed. He had come to her defense, not that she’d needed him to, with that moron Clement. Which meant that despite all the information Wyrmwood had been collecting on him, he wasn’t telekinetically dead.

  But he was going to be physically dead if he didn’t reveal that truth to the Wyrmwood team, or if Samantha wasn’t able to get him out of there when Vadim gave the go-ahead. It would have to be soon, she thought, thinking of how drained Jed had looked when they’d brought him back to the room.

  On the way home, she picked up a burner phone and sent off a text to the number she’d memorized.

  How long?

  Then she tossed the phone into a Dumpster and continued on home. She didn’t worry about how Vadim was going to answer her. He always found a way.

  Chapter 8

  Persephone had stopped dreaming about Collins Creek a long time ago. If she did think about her childhood, it was only in a series of flashing memories she did her best to shove aside. She and her twin brother, Phoenix, had managed to escape when Wyrmwood attacked and took most of the children away. The two of them had grown up on the streets, running constantly from Wyrmwood’s scouts who’d found other survivors and made them disappear. The rumors about what was done to the Collins Creek children had circulated. Phoenix and Persephone had always managed to stay a few steps ahead of them, and in many ways the memories of the things they’d done to survive had been much worse than anything she could truly remember from her first ten years on the farm.

  Now, though, she couldn’t stop herself from looking over her shoulder everywhere she went. She couldn’t prove the guy from this morning had been from Wyrmwood.

  Twenty years had passed since the raid. Why would they suddenly be looking so hard now? Turning over in her bed, she thought of calling Vadim. He’d offered her and Phoenix sanctuary, but her brother had refused, not willing to throw in his lot with a group that, to him, seemed as likely to turn out to be as awful as Wyrmwood. Persephone had not been quite as convinced of that. She had, in fact, done a job or two for Vadim over the years. Never anything serious or long-term. The money was fantastic, but like her brother, she’d never wanted to commit to it.

  Vadim would know if there was anything new going on with Wyrmwood, though. Restless, Persephone got out of bed and paced through her apartment, checking as always the exits. One door in, one door out. The only window a single transom on the alley side of the building. She could get through it if she had to, but her real escape was the service elevator, a dumbwaiter, in a closet off the kitchen.

  Running through her escape plan calmed her a little, but she was still not going to sleep. She needed something else, and she knew exactly where to find it. She dialed a familiar number.

  “Leila? Girl, what are you up to?”

  Leila was up to going out and causing trouble, as she almost always was. Persephone didn’t hang out with her very often for just that reason—any kind of trouble Leila wanted to get into usually ended up bad. She didn’t have the sense of self-preservation that Persephone had, or even Phoenix, who admittedly could be way less worried about keeping his ass out of the fire. Leila’s skill was in counting. Her brain was an abnormally brilliant calculator that could figure the most complex equations with little more than a blink or two. She had not yet managed to use this Collins Creek–created skill for much of anything, though. Maybe she never would.

  Still, it was good to get out, go dancing. Get a little drunk. Grind on a handsome guy or two or three. Persephone and Leila hit the town, dressed to...well, not to kill, Persephone thought absently as she scanned the crowed for likely prey. She never wanted to kill anyone ever again.

  All at once, there he was from across the room. Kane Dennis, the cop who lived in Persephone’s building. He was the one with the hot water problem. He was leaning against the back wall, a cup of beer in his hand. Scanning the room, back and forth, as though he were looking for something. Or someone. It didn’t look like he’d seen her yet.

  She began to layer herself, homing in on his mind. One at a time, that was the only way she could do this. He would have no idea that he was looking at a different woman from the one everyone else could see.

  “I’m glamouring for that guy,” Persephone said to Leila with a discreet point toward Kane. “You’ll be okay here?”

  Leila was already tonsils-deep into a make-out session with a guy she’d picked up a few minutes before, and waved Persephone away. Why, exactly, Persephone was doing this when there was a club full of dudes she didn’t have to see in front of the mailbox every morning, she could not say. Only that he was there and she was here, and a curling flicker of need was rising inside her that she wanted to sate.

  Maybe it was because he was a cop. She would be safe. If someone broke in and tried to take her, she thought, blaming the booze and the smoke and the little white pill of undetermined origin that Leila had slipped her earlier for this ragged t
rain of thought. If someone broke in, Kane would be able to protect her. Wouldn’t he?

  By the time she got to him, she wore longer legs. Bigger tits as usual, since that’s what most men seemed to dig. Soft, round booty. Dusky skin. Dark ringlets. Red lips, dark eyes.

  “Hi,” she said. “I’m Maria. Thinking about getting out of here, how about you?”

  That was all it took. Persephone had not figured Kane for a guy so easily seduced and was in truth a little put off at how simple it had been, but she supposed it didn’t matter as long as she got what she needed from him. Hard cock. Big hands. Sweet tongue. They found a cheap room in one of the hotels lining the street this end of town.

  He kissed her mouth as soon as they got inside the door, his hands roaming over her. Fingers playing beneath her skirt, he found her already wet. Slick. Hot. He slipped his fingers inside her, fucking in and out, and she opened for him. His thumb pressed her clit, a steady pace that had her ready to go in minutes.

  He let her lead him to the bed and strip him down. He watched her do the same. He rolled her over, nudging open her knees. She thought he would go down on her; she hoped he would, but instead Kane pressed a series of kisses to her belly, up to her breasts. Her throat. Her mouth. He’d pulled a condom from his wallet while they undressed and sheathed himself so efficiently that he was inside her in moments.

  “Oh,” she said. “Okay, then.”

  Kane fucked her slowly at first, making sure to get her going. When she needed a little extra pressure on her clit, he gave it to her, just right. Persephone rarely had any trouble getting off, but tonight it was taking her longer. Because she knew him, she thought, irritated with herself now that the buzz was fading. She ought to have found a stranger.

  She didn’t have much more time to think about it then because something in the way he shifted had brought her to the tipping point. They moved together, easily, steadily, and she came in a slow rush of rolling pleasure. He followed with a shudder and buried his face against the side of her neck.

  When her phone rang, she was happy to shift out from underneath him so she could grab it. “Hey, girl.”

  “I didn’t go home with that guy,” Leila’s drunken voice crackled through the phone, a bad connection. “I’m back at my place. You okay?”

  “Yes, fine.” Persephone glanced at Kane, who’d sat up to look at her. She’d been holding on to her illusion as a matter of habit, a good one, but tightened it now to be sure he had not even a glimpse of her true self. Leila had disconnected.

  “I have to go,” she said. “Sisters before misters, am I right?”

  “Sure. No problem.” He yawned and fell back on the bed. “You need a cab or anything?”

  “I’m good.” She paused as she gathered her clothes to look at him. “Thanks for tonight.”

  He rolled onto his side to crack open an eye and grin at her. “You’re welcome.”

  It was on the tip of her tongue to offer him her number, which of course would be ridiculously stupid, even if she did use the fake side line she kept for these very occasions. Instead, she dressed quickly and let herself out of the hotel room.

  Chapter 9

  Jed studied the wooden puzzle in front of him. It was more suitable for a five-year-old than a twenty-five-year-old, but since he’d been given puzzles identical to this one or nearly so since he had been five, he guessed they’d never seen any reason to change. A rectangular wooden base with different sized, shaped and colored holes, meant to hold the brightly colored matching pieces. Unlike a toddler puzzle, this one had more complicated shapes and smaller pieces. The goal: fit the pieces into the slots as fast as possible. He’d been using this same one for so long, the paint had worn down to bare wood in many places. It didn’t matter. At this point, the exercise was more of a self-soothing device than anything else.

  He shook out the pieces, scattering them across the desk like jacks. He set the base upright and leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes. His hands went to the edges of the table, fingertips touching the worn wooden surface lightly. Through the pads of his fingertips, he could taste the harsh sting of the antibacterial cleanser they used in here every afternoon while he was in session with Dr. Ransom. It was a bad taste, yet somehow comforting. It had been the same for twenty years. Just like the puzzle. Like the lights set on timers to keep him on a regular day/night schedule that had nothing in common with the actual movement of the sun. Like everything else here, over time, the hospital had become...home.

  Without opening his eyes, Jed began fitting the pieces into the slots. His fingers moved, stroking over the wooden desk, though now the harsh bite of the chemicals had been replaced by the smoother, older smell of colored paint. Blue star. Yellow circle. Red hexagon.

  Faster.

  Green cross. Black square. Purple triangle.

  Faster.

  The wooden pieces fit themselves into place with small, clattering thumps and thuds as they rolled across the desk.

  When all the pieces had returned to the base, the vibration in the desk ceased and he opened his eyes. He put his fingertips on the edge of the table again and touched the puzzle with his gaze and nothing more. He’d done this forty-seven times already tonight, and would keep doing it until the lights went off when he was supposed to be sleeping—but of course he didn’t sleep. He hardly ever did, never more than an hour or two at a time, anyway.

  He closed his eyes.

  Faster.

  Faster.

  He could do this another three times, if he was quick, before it was time for Samantha to bring him his meds. He’d have to be finished before she got here. She had no idea what he was, what he could do. But out of all the people who’d worked here over the years, all the doctors, nurses and orderlies, all the guards, hundreds of people who’d taken care of him—Samantha was the only one who’d made it seem like it mattered. How she saw him. What she thought of him. She was the first person since he’d been sent here to make Jed care about anything.

  A scant few seconds before he heard the click of the door lock, Jed had finished his last round of the puzzle and pushed it aside. He was already on his feet, standing behind the red line painted on the floor well away from the door. He smoothed his hair, suddenly self-conscious. He should have quit the puzzle sooner. Brushed his hair, his teeth. Changed his shirt, as if any of the four he owned were not identical.

  “Hi, Jed.” Samantha’s grin urged his own. “How’s it going?”

  “Good, good. You?” He always sounded such like an idiot when he spoke to her, but she never seemed to notice.

  “Oh, I’m dandy.” She waited for the door to lock behind her before stepping toward him.

  In the past eight years, Jed had never once moved over the red line before that solid click. In eight years, never given anyone reason to fear him. For a brief period of time when he was a teenager, they’d upped his meds to keep him from trying to escape, testing him over and over again to see if he could do with the door lock what he could do with the puzzle, but he’d always failed. It was the type of metal, they said amongst themselves. They had no idea that it wasn’t anything to do with that all, but the simple fact that Jed wanted them to stop drugging him.

  Not so he could get out. That, he could’ve done at any time, despite the drugs and the special metal in the locks. His memories of what life had been before had never faded, even through the distortion of childhood. He never wanted to go back to the life he’d known before coming here. If that meant spending his life in this room, so be it. No, he’d simply hated the fuzzy way the meds made him feel. Slow and thick and stupid.

  “Is it getting cold outside?” he asked her suddenly, regretting the stupid words the moment they flew out of his mouth.

  Samantha frowned and gave him a sideways glance, then another at the corner of the ceiling where the hidden camera lurked.
“You know I’m not allowed to talk about that, Jed.”

  “Right, right. I know.” Did they really think he didn’t remember there was a world outside these walls? Sometimes, Jed thought, they must. He’d allowed them to think of him as simple for so long, he must’ve convinced them he was also stupid. “I just wondered.”

  “Can you sit down, please?” She gestured, and when he had complied, as he always did, always, never disobedient, she made a show of pulling out her stethoscope but leaned over him as she placed the round part of it against his chest. “The leaves are changing. The air smells like snow.”

  That whisper sent an electric jolt all through him. So did her touch on his wrist as she counted the too-many and too-fast beats of his heart. Samantha looked into his eyes, so close he could see the white specks surrounding the blackness of her pupil. She gave him a small, secret smile and waited a moment or so before she officially took his pulse. Giving him time to relax.

  She knew him.

  She’d never commented on the embarrassing way his body reacted to her standard routine. Not when she used gentle fingers to press his neck and throat to check his lymph nodes and his heartbeat again raced, and not when she had him lift his arms to his sides so she could pass her hands along his body and he shifted against the rise in his pants. She noticed it. She had to. There was no way to hide the heat of his skin. But she always managed to be standing at an angle to block it from the camera, and she always took her time to make it possible for him to calm down before she stepped back.

  Today (it was really close to midnight, though they wanted him to think it was more like noon) she lingered with the exam. Stood a little closer than usual. She dropped her stylus, a soft-tipped rubber utensil that should not have been able to cause any harm, should he decide to take it from her and shove it into a vulnerable spot. It was a sensible precaution, though he wondered why nobody had ever seemed to consider the fact he’d need no weapon if he really wanted to hurt someone.