Falling (Girl With Broken Wings Book 1)

by J Bennett

  “Oh my god,” I gasp. Something strange is tugging inside my chest.

  “It isn’t mine,” Tarren says as he crosses the room with long, powerful strides. He goes into the bathroom, shuts the door. The shower hisses to life.

  “Where’s Gabe?” I ask the spot where Tarren was.

  “Right here. You miss me?” Gabe walks through the door carrying a duffle bag on each shoulder. I look him over, assessing his aura for any hints of red. The normal bright blue of his energy is muddied and pale, but it’s stable.

  I scan his body, wincing when he reaches across the bed to turn on the lamp. There are drops of blood on his sneakers, and smudges between his fingers where a quick washing didn’t get them off.

  “Were you sleeping on the carpet?” Gabe catches my stare and smiles.

  I put a finger to my cheek and feel the imprint of the carpet fibers on my skin.

  “What happened?” I ask. “Did you…uh.”

  Gabe sets the duffle bags onto the bed. “Uh-huh. Got lucky. This sicko liked to hang around his own crime scenes. You know, get off on it.”

  He unzips one of the bags and picks out a set of clothes. I know these are Tarren’s clothes not only by the smell, but also because Gabe pulls out a long sleeved shirt and jeans with no holes in them. Gabe knocks on the bathroom door, opens it and drops in the clothes without looking.

  “We noticed him at the crime scene,” Gabe says as he closes the bathroom door and then carefully avoids the rat droppings as he makes his way back to the bed. “Followed him until he was alone and…well,” Gabe shrugs. “Clipped his wings.”

  “Killed him,” I say.

  The shower stops.

  “So, how far’d you get with Zombie Hordes?” Gabe asks. I don’t have time to answer. Tarren is out of the bathroom in two minutes ordering me to the car. Gabe is already pulling a bottle of bleach out of Tarren’s duffle bag.

  “Put the hat on,” Tarren calls after me as I slink out the door. The Murano smells like blood. The seats look clean. I follow the smell back toward the trunk. With shaking hands, I lift the latch on the backseat and pull it down just a little. A lumpy bundle wrapped in a tarp lies in the trunk.

  Gingerly, I put the seat back in place. I turn around, fold my hands in my lap and try not to give into the maniac tears, laughter or screams that all struggle for release.

  The boys are done cleaning the room in minutes. I wonder if they found the dead mouse under the bed. Gabe gets behind the wheel.

  “Seatbelts,” he calls.

  “We’re going to meet a friend in Las Vegas,” Tarren tells me from the passenger seat. “We’ll make it in about five hours.”

  “Is there a body in the trunk?” I ask.

  Gabe — “No.”

  Tarren — “Yes.”

  The brothers look at each other. Gabe frowns. Tarren shrugs.

  “It’s just a bundle of, uh, hockey sticks,” Gabe says.

  “It’s too big to be hockey sticks,” I say, and can’t keep the waver out of my voice.

  “Yeah, of course,” Gabe replies. “But, ah, that’s because it’s a crash test dummy holding hockey sticks.”

  “That’s even less believable than just the hockey sticks,” Tarren informs his brother.

  “Shut up.” Gabe starts the car. We pull out of the parking lot. I hear the body listing in the trunk. A little warbly moan catches in my throat.

  “Maya, just don’t think about it,” Gabe says.

  “Okay,” I say and try to put some power in my voice so it doesn’t come out like a croak. I search for my sunglasses and shove them on my face even though it’s dark outside again. I don’t want the boys to see me crying. I don’t want to be crying. I’m so damn tired of my own tears.

  Chapter 29

  We reach the outskirts of Las Vegas in the middle of the night and drop Tarren off at a motel. Gabe and I find an animal shelter, and I learn that his hands are just as deft on locks and alarm systems as video game controllers.

  “Gabe of all trades,” he whispers, hat turned forward and pulled low over his face.

  The animals erupt at my scent, and I scurry back out to the SUV amid yips and low rolling growls. Gabe brings back a scarred pit bull, the leash wrapped tight around his hand. The dog fights against the leash, throwing his head from side to side and squealing each time the collar bites into his neck.

  “No one’s going to adopt this guy,” Gabe says as if that could possibly make anything better.

  “No one but us.” I kneel and pet the dog. His body shivers, and he nips at my hand each time I come close to a wound.

  “I’ll keep a lookout,” Gabe says and quickly strolls to the other side of the car.

  “Well, life can be a suckfest sometimes,” I tell the dog as I slowly wrap the leash around my hand, dragging the unwilling creature toward me.

  * * *

  Las Vegas has a hangover in the morning. The city is washed out, dry and nasty hot. The lights blink and jive with futility against a brazen sun. Groups of tourists meander along littered sidewalks, and a few lone figures sway in and out of the shadows. I watch one man lurch across the street, putting his hand on car hoods to keep himself up.

  Easy target, a thought whispers in my mind. Shut up, I think back. Shut up, shut up, shut up!

  “We’ve got to come back here when we’re done,” Gabe says, shading his eyes as he looks out the side window.

  “Too many cameras,” Tarren replies.

  “But Maya wants to see Cirque du Soleil. It’s her dream of dreams. Why do you hate happiness?”

  “I don’t really…” I begin.

  “Your humility is heartwarming,” Gabe cuts in. “I might just try my hand at a little Texas Hold ‘Em while she watches the show, you know, just to pass the time…”

  “Stay focused,” Tarren says.

  “You play poker on your computer all day long,” I add.

  “You guys suck. You make lame people look…uh, much less lame or…just shut up.” Gabe lays his head against the window.

  We leave the city behind, and move through a sprawl of condos and houses capped with terracotta tiles and sitting on lawns composed of gravel and desert brush. It all looks so different from the cramped, proudly-weathered homes of Connecticut.

  The bundle in the trunk shifts whenever the car turns. I hold a basketball in my lap, and bounce it on my knees. I try not to think about why we are here or what Tarren’s scientist friend will want to do to me.

  Tarren takes a turn up a private road, and we pass by tall iron gates protecting houses that may have tumbled out of the British countryside. The desert has been championed by water pipes, diligent lawn care workers and sheer human determination to snuff out inconvenient landscapes. I imagine Barons and Dukes pulling on tall black boots and galloping out for a summer morning foxhunt through the majestic palm trees.

  One gate is open. Little iron lions rear up on each post. We turn and follow a cobbled road to what can only be described as “an estate” built out of gray stone and unashamedly flaunting a bevy of peaks and latticed windows. The bushes twist up in carefully-pruned majesty along the circular driveway, and lawn care workers scuttle back and forth from their trucks. I search for the fountain and find it, a marble lion roaring out a gush of water.

  While I am not gaping at the house or trying to count all the windows, Tarren opens the back door opposite of me. He shrugs on a backpack, hands Gabe his computer bag and motions for the basketball.

  “Would you call that a ‘bevy’ of latticed windows?” I ask and toss him the ball.

  “Come on,” is all he says back.

  We wait at the door, and Tarren rings the bell again. I rock on the balls of my feet feeling conspicuous among the grandeur. I’m wearing a little jean skirt with flip flops, because the other sandals they bought don’t fit my wide feet. Tarren sweats in the blue jacket he won’t take off. Gabe is in a rumpled X-Men t-shirt, and his jeans are torn at both knees. He’s pretty much perfected the st
oner look. As for myself, the wide-brimmed hat/flip flop combo screams tweaker. And Tarren… looks fine. The jacket works, and the faded jeans give him an air of cool casual. Dammit.

  A faint crash sounds from within the house followed by a high giggle.

  “Someone’s been hitting the sauce again,” Gabe mutters under his breath. “Muchos cervezas.”

  Tarren frowns at his brother as the door swings open, and a large-boned woman with an apparent fondness for loud colors leans against the frame. Her breasts swell beneath a tight, pink blouse. A smile see-saws its way onto her mouth as she sees me and then moves along to Tarren.

  “Oh Troy!” She gazes at Tarren. “Oh, how wonderful. You’re here.”

  “Good afternoon Mrs. Hernandez,” Tarren says. “We’re here to spend some time with…”

  “It’s Miss Hernandez now darling. Don’t make me keep reminding you.” She gives a hiccupping laugh. Gabe snorts.

  “Lee, hello sweetie,” the woman drawls.

  “Hola, you’re looking lovely as usual.” Gabe puts on his best grin.

  “Good boy. I’m fat and hideous. Una gorda. But you two. Oh, you boys look good enough to eat!” Her eyes linger on Tarren.

  “This is Buffy,” Gabe nods to me. “She’s new to Big Brothers and Big Sisters, so we’re teaching her the ropes.”

  “Why, aren’t you a skinny little thing.” The woman gives me a crooked smile. “That hat, darling. Well, isn’t that something.”

  “Thanks, I simply adore it.”

  “Who is it?” a voice calls from inside the house.

  “It’s Troy. Troy is here,” the woman calls behind her.

  “Get out the way.” A teenage boy squeezes in front of the woman and blinks up at us beneath a mop of black hair. His eyes find mine and alight with interest.

  “We brought Chutes and Ladders,” Gabe says to him cheerfully.

  “You do know you have to be able to count to play that game,” the boy responds in a voice that seems too deep for his thin body and young face.

  “We’ll take it slow.” Gabe ignores Tarren’s scowl. “That’s what Big Brothers is for.”

  “Oh that sounds fun,” Miss Hernandez murmurs as the kid glowers at Gabe. “If you boys need anything, just go get it. Watch out, I think there’s some broken glass.”

  “Alright Carmen,” the boy says, “you’ve sufficiently embarrassed yourself for the time being. We’re going to be in the lab. Don’t bother us.”

  “Miss Hernandez,” Tarren steps in quickly, “why don’t you let Lee help you clean up that glass.”

  “Oh, how lovely of you.” The smile tips back onto the woman’s face. “Lee, there’s cookies in the kitchen. You can have as many as you want as long as you don’t let me touch ‘em.”

  “Awesome,” Gabe says as the boy turns and stalks away into the house.

  “Bring the car around back when you’re done so we can unload the hockey sticks,” Tarren says to his brother, then nods for me to follow the boy into the house.

  The kid is skinny as a wraith and his long loping gait leads us through a house made up of expansive rooms, tiled floors and curvy, modern furniture. My cheapo sandals squeak on the floor as we pass through a dining room, a media room, a game room, something that seems like another dining room and then into a massive lounge.

  A life-sized painting looming over a completely pointless fireplace shows a muscular Hispanic man wearing boxing gloves and shorts and leering with a mixture of pride, arrogance and a little stupid thrown on top. He stands in a boxing ring, and two lions prowl behind him.

  We take a back door and emerge into the sun behind the house. I loosen my fists. The song is still here, always here, but softens as my skin opens to the sunlight. I am briefly distracted by a two-tiered pool disappearing into a grove of lush plants. Stone lions guard the path. I touch them and feel warm marble beneath my fingertips. Stupid lions. Stupid splendor.

  “Lo, you should respect your mother,” Tarren tells the boy.

  “That booze hound?” The boy shrugs. “She’s worthless. Respect is earned, not given. And it’s stepmother.”

  “This is Lo?” I accuse Tarren. “How old is he?

  The boy turns around and gives me an appraising look. Dark eyes sit under thick black brows. He emotes a bad ass vibe with middling success. Hoops stand out on his nose and lip, and he wears a skull and cross bones t-shirt.

  “How old you want me to be?”

  “None of that,” Tarren says sternly.

  “You said he was a brilliant scientist,” I argue.

  The boy stops. His eyes blink rapidly.

  “I’m smarter than you’ll ever be,” he states matter-of-factly. “Also, lose the hat. You look like some middle-aged basket case who shows up at Walmart in her pajamas in the middle of the day. Those women should just kill themselves already.”

  Tarren gives me a warning look as I open my mouth to respond. We continue past the pool to a large guest house set away from the rest of the property. Lo taps in a code on the keypad and presses his thumb against the screen.

  “Fingerprint analysis, really?” Tarren asks.

  “We’re working on some dangerous shit in here Troy. Gotta’ be careful.” A smug smile comes and goes on the boy’s face.

  A green light blinks on above the door, and Lo pulls it open. Bright white lights flicker on to reveal a sterile room that looks very labish in a kind of fake way that you see in movies or on television. The air is cool and crisp, and I hear the hum of an air conditioner vibrating through the walls. Microscopes and racks of beakers sit on the counter tops. A large table stands in the middle of the room connected to a machine that looks like a big, somewhat menacing donut.

  “How did you manage a CT Scan?” Tarren asks.

  Lo blinks. “Carmen and I agreed to a parent-by-purchase arrangement. She buys me whatever I ask for, and I stop releasing hornets during her dinner parties. It’s worked out quite nicely so far.”

  I gaze at the black freezer chest in the corner. It’s large enough to fit a body. Several bodies. I turn and notice Lo staring at me. He takes his time, running his gaze up and down my body. His face remains passive, but his eyes are expressive and bright with curiosity. His energy courses rapidly around his body, not jumpy like Tarren’s but quick and focused.

  “So this is the hybrid. Amazing.” Lo shakes his head. “And a hottie too. Bonus.”

  Tarren rolls the basketball into the corner, shrugs off his backpack and pulls out a notebook. I discard the hat and sunglasses.

  Lo pulls on a black lab coat, skull and crossbones on the pocket.

  “You kind of look like that chick who’s missing. What’s her name.”

  “Maya,” Tarren says as the heat rises in my face.

  Lo blinks and blinks again.

  “Oh, no way. Holy Jesus, Mary and Joseph, you two are unbelievable.” He lets out a high-pitched laugh. “You guys are in deep shit. Everyone and their arthritic, cancer-ridden grandmother is looking for her.”

  “Just shut up and do whatever it is you’re supposed to do.” My voice trembles.

  “Yeah,” Lo coughs and blinks. He pulls open a drawer. “You know, this must be really traumatizing. If you need a shoulder to cry on. I’m here for you, baby.”

  “Lo,” Tarren warns.

  “I’m not a virgin, you know,” Lo continues, “and I’ve read a lot of things. Ever hear of the Kama Sutra? I have it memorized.” Raw, bright colors edge into his aura.

  “You’re like twelve!” I shout.

  “That’s not what my fake ID says.”

  “Enough,” Tarren says quietly. “We’ve got work to do.”

  * * *

  They do get to work. Tedious hours tick by as they examine me, take blood and hair samples and measure my radiation output. I am poked and prodded, X-rayed and scanned. I lay on the table for long stretches of time reading The Count of Monte Cristo as the boys peer at my blood beneath a microscope and murmur science jargon to each other. I
have elevated levels of this and a prominent reaction to that enzyme, which suggests manipulation of whatever complex.

  At some point, Gabe knocks on the door, and Tarren goes out to meet him. They come back carrying the tarp-covered bundle.

  “Freezer,” Lo says without looking up from his microscope.

  I stare at the page of my book, keeping my eyes adhered to the blurry words. Still, I can’t help but hear the sound of them lifting the body up and over the lip of the freezer. It slides in and hits the bottom with a heavy whump. The lid closes, and I turn to find Gabe giving me a sympathetic expression. Silently, I beg him to stay.

  “Keep searching for new hits,” Tarren tells his brother.

  “But…” Gabe looks at me. I’m mentally clinging to him like a frightened cat.

  “We’re fine. Bring us back some cookies in an hour or so,” Lo says.

  Gabe glowers at the boy.

  “Go,” Tarren says, softening his voice. “We can’t afford to let any angels slip by us.”

  I know this is true, but I need Gabe to be here anyway. I need his goofy grins, his lame Chuck Norris jokes and his unflappable confidence that everything will be all right, even if I know it isn’t true.

  On his way out of the room, Gabe pauses next to me and whispers, “Don’t let them do anything that makes you uncomfortable. I’ll be right outside.”

  Then Gabe is gone, and Tarren is planting a long needle into a vial of clear liquid. I don’t move at all except that my grip on the book puts indents in both covers. I’m ready to spring onto the ceiling if he makes a lunge for me.

  “We need to put you to sleep, to take some bone marrow samples,” Tarren says.

  “No.”

  “Maya, this is important.”

  Rainbow shimmers down the needle. Colors puddle on the floor. Fire licking up the insides of my bones….

  “If you drug me I might lose control. I need to be alert,” I say this matter-of-factly, putting granite in my eyes just like Tarren does. Our eyes clash, granite on granite, grating stone dust between us, until Tarren puts the needle down.