by Matt Betts
“Oh,” Taylor put the box on a table. “There’s an open house tonight. In an hour or so, actually. I just have some decorations in here.” She started pulling things out and placing them on the table. “Some flyers on the programs I do. A couple of boxes of crackers, some cheese. I don’t go too crazy. Hardly anyone ever shows up for these things.”
“That’s too bad.” Deena tried not to stare at the cheese and crackers.
“Eh. The other instructors get some traffic. This is a small town, so Ed, the guy that teaches karate, usually gets some parents and their kids. Helen teaches art classes down the hall, she gets some older people looking for something to do in their retirement. The tax guy is always popular.” There was a sound in the hall of the door closing. They watched as a middle-aged woman in black tights and legwarmers walked by. “Hello Denise,” Taylor yelled. “That’s Denise,” she said quietly. “She teaches the exercise classes. She keeps the place open, there’s always a ton of people that want to lose weight.” She tore open a sleeve of crackers and nibbled off a bit of the corner. “She’s kind of a bitch, though.” She held the crackers out to Deena.
“Oh, I don’t think…”
Taylor gave her a “come on” look and Deena pulled one of them out and accidentally shoved the whole thing in her mouth without thinking.
Deena managed to score a couple of slices of cheese without seeming too desperate while Taylor was setting out her decorations and then announced she was on her way out. “I really need to get going. I’m hoping to catch the next bus. That should be coming up pretty soon.”
“You got a while yet. Tickets ain’t going to sell out or anything,” Taylor said.
“Still,” Deena said. “Thanks for the crackers, though.”
The other woman smiled.
“Sorry I can’t stay for the open house, you have some pretty cool decorations.”
“You worked up quite a sweat, you’re certainly welcome to use the showers in the locker room,” Taylor said. “Hate to stink out the passengers on that bus.”
There was no discreet way for Deena to smell herself, so she pressed on. “I’ll be fine. Thanks, though.”
Taylor pulled out a flyer and handed it to Deena. “Here, if you ever find yourself out this way accidentally again, you’re welcome to stop by and beat the hell out of the padded room.”
“Thanks,” Deena nodded and walked through the doorway. She tried to hurry, so she wouldn’t get caught up again and feel guilty for not staying. She ran up the steps as fast as her weary legs could take her. At the top, she saw Denise coming up with her decorations and she nearly rolled her eyes. Would she ever get out of the building? “Can I help you?” she said as sweetly as she could to the woman in the tights.
“Little late, honey. This is the last of it. Where were you ten minutes ago?” With that the exercise queen of Carbondale, California shoved past Deena, bumping her as she went.
Deena could see why Taylor wasn’t fond of the woman.
Cutting across the parking lot, Deena noticed a little red sedan with a personalized license plate that read “WERKIT” with the trunk was open. She assumed it was Denise’s. She stared at the car for a moment, then looked around to make sure no one saw her staring. She was on the way out of the life of crime. She’d kept telling herself that since the plane. She’d already done a few things that weren’t anywhere near legal since she decided to go straight.
There weren’t a lot of other vehicles in the lot. A dented pickup truck, a van with the community center logo on it, and a small sport utility vehicle were the extent of her choices.
She looked around for any pedestrians and considered how lucky she’d been since the train. Marsh’s men and various law enforcement agents had to be closing in on the town, even if it was for a cursory glance. Stealing a car from a mildly annoying exercise queen would probably draw unwanted attention. Still. It would be harder to escape if she were walking. She stared at the car and found her reflection in the window. She looked like hell. Her hair was flattened with sweat and she had no make-up to speak of.
The car actually belonged to a person, however unsociable. That person would have to go through considerable time and effort to recoup their vehicle or its cost. Plus, if Deena stole it, she’d have to find a way to pay for gas. If she had the keys, it would be easy to take off with the vehicle, but she’d learned to hotwire long ago.
Suddenly, there was a thin black vein winding out of her index finger, no thicker than a piece of thread. Whether she’d been serious about it or not, she’d pictured a key and the Shadow Energy responded.
She watched the reflection up to the point where the dark line came in contact with the car window. From there it spread itself flat and climbed up the window, stopping only briefly at the top of the glass where it met the door. After a pause, Deena could see the blackness on the other side the glass. It dangled down, remaining in contact with the larger portion, enveloping the lock in darkness. Deena heard the click of the door unlocking and then another sound and the door opened slightly. The material tugged at Deena’s arm, then the door opened more, using the tension between the door and Deena for leverage. Before Deena could decide what she thought of this, more of the blackness wrapped itself around the steering wheel and with a click, the car roared to life, its engine idling high.
Denise was a bitch, wasn’t she? Deena thought. She reasoned that she could return the car when she was done, if she had to. What was a few hundred or thousand miles more on the odometer anyway, right? It wasn’t like she was killing Denise. That’s what she would have done in the old days. Was there a distinction between her old life of crime and casual use of her Shadow Energy?
Baby steps.
Deena closed the trunk, got in and, rather than flooring it, quietly drove out of the lot and onto the road. She let the exercise lady’s GPS device guide her to the nearest road that paralleled a major highway and took off at a sensible speed. She reached into her bag for the phone to try to keep in touch with her sister and was pleasantly surprised to find a sleeve of crackers and some slices of cheese wrapped up in a paper towel. She was not as excited to discover that she couldn’t remember if she’d taken them, or if Taylor had placed them there.
She crunched a cracker and let the crumbs fall all over Denise’s seat and floor.
Baby steps.
37
Stanley picked up the revolver just as the other guards burst into the room. Harper fired two shots and one of the men fell. The other slid himself behind the reception desk. Stanley pointed his gun in that direction.
“Don’t shoot unless you see him,” Harper said. “Don’t waste bullets.”
Stanley nodded emphatically, showing her he understood. Despite her reputation as a screw up, she’d been through a number of successful jobs and had only received that reputation due to a couple of unfortunate turns. He looked to her to think of a plan on the fly.
The second man popped up and Stanley pointed his gun. He watched as the man pulled the trigger, sending bullets flying Stanley’s way with a roar. The sound of those bullets embedding themselves in the wall behind him brought Stanley some solace, but his analytical mind began to compute the odds of all three of the shots missing him at such a close distance. He heard Harper behind him shout and Stanley accidentally pulled the trigger. He marveled as his opponent fell to the ground until he realized the man had simply dropped for cover. Stanley saw the wisdom in that, and fell back down himself.
“What the hell are you doing?” Harper said.
Stanley had no real answer. At least not one that didn’t involve him admitting that he’d stopped to figure out the statistics of victory and dodging bullets like some character from The Matrix. “I’m new at this.”
“Well it’s going to get old real fast if you don’t start shooting back at this guy,” Harper stood and fired,
then climbed over the desk and crouched low as she advanced toward the reception area.
Stanley stared at the reception desk that the last man was hiding behind. He knew the company wouldn’t have ordered a good desk; they always used cheap furniture in offices other than Marsh’s personal suite. Stanley figured that the furniture was thin, cheap particle board or worse. Its bullet stopping power was probably next to nil. He pointed the gun at the spot where the man had ducked. After thinking over the odds that the man was still there, Stanley opened fire and continued to fire at the same spot until the gun ran dry. And he waited.
A second later, the man popped up at the other end of the desk, and Harper shot him in the face. The man fell backward, his arms flailing unguided. He landed with a thump, out of sight.
The hot stench of gunfire made Stanley’s eyes water and his nostrils burn. He stood with the gun still pointed at the same spot, and sulked at the miscalculation. He’d never been in a gunfight and the real-time variables confounded him.
“Thanks for flushing him out for me,” Harper said.
Stanley felt a sudden surge in his stomach and he vomited all over the plastic desk chairs nearest him.
38
Morgan slept for an hour at a roadside rest stop off the highway. He’d been going nonstop for too long and all the soda and coffee in the world couldn’t have kept him awake. Not after Mr. Hector had begun to sing “Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star.” Morgan had grown to hate that bear.
In the restroom, Morgan splashed water on his face and noticed a couple dots of blood dried on his face from when he shot Wallace. He chuckled to think what would have happened if he’d been pulled over for speeding or something. How would he have explained that to a state trooper? Shaving accident?
“You would’ve told them it was a shaving accident? But the blood is on your forehead.” A familiar voice came from inside one of the bathroom stalls. After a second, Wallace stepped out. “That seems like a lame excuse. What then? Kill the trooper, like you did with the coffee shop kid?”
Another stall opened and Brandt stepped out. “Why not? He could handle killing one more person, right? It’s what he does. He’s a man.”
“Both of you just shut up,” Morgan said. He turned back to washing his hands and scrubbing at the blood, trying to get it off his face and fingers.
“Awww. Out, out, damn spot,” Morgan’s mother said. Morgan saw the other two give her a quizzical look. “What? It’s Shakespeare. Don’t you guys read?”
“This is the fucking men’s room,” Brandt said. “This is where men talk.”
“And where they take a piss.” Wallace walked closer to Brandt and looked at Morgan’s mother. “Now, if you’ll excuse us.”
From the last closed stall, the monkey’s cymbals started to clang.
“Is the monkey a boy or a girl?” Mother asked. “Just wondered. Wanted to make sure it’s in the right bathroom.”
“You really think shooting me was a good idea? Marsh is going to shit cats when he finds out. You’re screwed now.” Wallace seemed satisfied with himself and folded his arms.
“I already called him,” Morgan said. “He’s fine with it. Especially after I told him you were working for Thorpe’s criminal organization. Seems Marsh doesn’t like traitors.”
“I wasn’t. I would never double-cross Marsh.”
“Yeah, well. Who’s he going to believe? Me or the dead guy?” Morgan grabbed a brown paper towel to wipe his face and then wadded it up and threw it in the garbage. “I think he prefers getting his news from the living.” He turned and walked out of the restroom and back toward the SUV.
“This is your idea of chasing down a subject? Napping in parking lots? You should have her by now,” Brandt said.
“I’m getting there.”
“Make sure you wear a seat belt,” Morgan’s mother said.
Brandt pushed his way in front of her. “Getting there? Bullshit. Someone else will get to her first.”
“Anyone want to ride shotgun? Wallace?” Morgan looked at Wallace and waited for a reaction. “No?” He backed the SUV out of the space and sped off toward the highway. In his rearview, Morgan could see the trio that had been bothering him still standing there.
39
It was a long drive for Deena all alone, but Denise’s car was a wealth of surprises. First Deena found change for rest stop vending machines in the center console, then a twenty dollar bill in the glove box. Best of all was a gas card that filled the tank and bought Deena some much needed caffeine at the gas station’s mini-mart. Ahh coffee. Deena had always consumed vast amounts of it when she was working. It got her going like nothing else. Not food, not sleep, not anything. Deena bought a mug so giant that it didn’t fit in the cup holders. She didn’t care. She kept it in her lap.
Denise’s taste in music was appalling to Deena, but at least the woman had satellite radio. The GPS was wonderful as well. Deena programmed in the address of her childhood home. She wondered if Harper had told Marsh about it, wondered if she and her sister truly had any secrets.
Of course, she’d spent a wild weekend there with Avi not that long ago, but she was sure he wouldn’t have ratted her out to Marsh. Her mind locked up at the thought of Avi. She’d taken steps to force herself not to think about him—blocking anything that connected them—since his death on the train, but the drive was boring and his face flooded her memory frequently. She’d seen a number of people die and never given them a second thought, but Avi was different for so many reasons. She’d known him—really known him—in every sense of the word. She had to pull over and dry her eyes thinking about how much they’d been through. They seemed like the perfect pair from the start; both loving the violence that made up so much of their lives. Both being so good at it.
The looks Avi gave her on the last day lingered in her mind. He was horrified to see what had happened to her. How she’d regressed. She couldn’t blame him for being terrified of sitting next to a teenager that was once his twenty-something lover.
Deena pulled the rearview mirror down to look at herself. She had a hard time judging how old she looked to others; she always seemed like herself, no matter the age. She guessed people would thing she was twenty. Maybe? It looked like her slow progression back to normal hadn’t been interrupted by using her powers on the train or the outburst in the community center.
She pulled the car back onto the road and concentrated on making her way to her childhood home. It was odd for her to feel so conflicted about going back. She had no idea when her dad had left, if he’d ever come back, or even if he would be waiting there when she arrived. She had no contact with him since she’d left and she assumed her sister hadn’t either. But again, did the sisters have any secrets?
The house was more or less as Deena had left it. It appeared no one had been there since the last time she’d managed to sneak off to unwind here. The lawn was overgrown, the tree branches were hanging low and the siding needed power washing. She drove along the gravel and pulled the car around back, so it was out of sight if anyone else came up the drive.
She lifted the garden gnome from the overgrown flowerbed and pulled the spare key out before returning it to the proper place. She let herself in through the back door and shut it behind her, snapping the deadbolt in place.
As Deena walked through the house cautiously, she listened for the sounds of anyone else that might be lying in wait. She heard nothing, but still walked through the living room, down the hall and thoroughly checked each bedroom and the bathroom. She then drifted back to the living room and sat down on the couch, which was just about the only piece of furniture left in the house. Everything was in its place.
She took deep breaths and closed her eyes. The last time she was here was with Avi. Months ago, they’d snuck away to blow off some steam and have some alone time after the Albany job. Their
time together was always closely guarded, and carefully concealed. If Marsh or any of his people figured out there was something going on that might interfere with the handler/killer dynamic, they’d be reassigned.
Now, she questioned her feelings for Avi. Everything that drew them together was predicated on what the Shadow Energy did to her, how it controlled her. That was what brought them together: the thrill of the job, the excitement of the criminal life, the planning, the execution. Were there ever really any feelings between them?
The spot on her arm had settled itself into a shape vaguely resembling a compass. It didn’t ache, didn’t feel heavy and certainly wasn’t moving at the moment. She wasn’t sure she’d gained control of anything, but hoped for the best. Maybe she’d somehow worn it down, subdued it, even if just for the time being. If she was going to be any use to Harper, she had to have her shit together before she went storming into Marsh’s den.
She looked around again. Why was she even here? In the early going, her wobbly teenaged brain felt like it would be the safest place, the most logical place to go. But it quickly became obvious to Deena that it wasn’t. The most logical place to go would’ve been to help Harper. She questioned her loyalty to her sister and her mind started to become addled again. She had to keep herself focused. Unconsciously, she wanted to go hang out in her old tree house and watch the traffic from the highway. That always used to calm her. Back when she actually was a teenager. She pushed away childish thoughts and moved on to look at the bedrooms.