The Debt Collector (Season 1)

by Susan Kaye Quinn

  I drop Ophelia’s hand as we emerge from the back bedroom. In the office area, a man in a high-end suit stands next to a girl who’s painfully thin: I can count her ribs through her painted-on clothes. She looks like she belongs in a hospital, not caked with skeet-junkie makeup and club-hopping in West Hollywood.

  Her hands have a slight tremor, and her wide blue eyes plead with the man, her head shaking slightly, just like her hands. He’s too slick, and I don’t like the way he’s massaging her shoulder: more like he’s holding her captive than comforting her. His skin is unnaturally smooth, and he reminds me of the high potentials at the LifeLong medical complex: CEO-type, used to being in control, getting his life hits between high-powered meetings. Why is he sneaking into a West Hollywood skeet den to get his hits? And why bother dragging the girl along?

  Valac introduces us, his voice raised slightly to be heard over the thumping downstairs. “Lirium and Ophelia, this is Anna and her manager, Pete. Lirium will be doing the transfer today, Anna, but Ophelia will be assisting him the entire time.” Valac directs that last part to the man, and it takes me a beat to realize that the girl is our payout.

  “That will work fine,” Pete says. Anna’s head shaking goes to a whole different level of tremor. I take a closer look at her fine-featured face, buried under the makeup. The perfectly rounded nose. The long, silky blonde hair that falls to the middle of her back. Her lower lip slides into a pout, and I suddenly recognize her: she’s one of those actors perpetually splashed across the tabloid ezines. I kept seeing her on my screen while I was trapped in my room, recovering from the beating courtesy of Nico and Two-Pints. She was in some kind of trouble. Rehab or paparazzi fights or something that was tarnishing her image. The jackals in the gossip columns were laying odds on how many minutes were left in her career, another Hollywood child actor washing out before she even reached eighteen.

  Pete whispers something in her ear, and suddenly she bolts. Her skinny legs make serious time down the hallway, darting through the open door of the bedroom and slamming it shut.

  He gives us an oily smile. “Just give us a minute,” he says, then hurries after her.

  Once he’s inside the bedroom, I turn to Valac. “That’s… what’s her name?”

  “Anna,” he says, staring down the hall. His arms wrap around each other, and he taps his foot, like he’s nervous they won’t come back.

  “No shit,” I say, which causes him to look at me. There’s a tiny smile back in his eyes. “But what’s a kid like that need with a life hit?”

  “I don’t ask questions like that, little bird.”

  I frown. The only thing I can imagine is somehow the hit will enhance her beauty, and this girl thinks being more beautiful will salvage her career. Or maybe she’s an addict. But this elaborate meetup in the skeet den seems like an awful lot of trouble for a hit. Then again, she’s got the one-foot-in-the-grave look that Madam A’s kids have.

  “Maybe she’s sick,” I say. “Maybe she needs it.”

  Valac frowns, and Ophelia pipes up. “I’m sure she needs it, baby. For whatever her reasons are.”

  I nod, and ask Valac, “How much am I paying out?”

  “Three years.”

  I choke. “Three years?” I peer down the hall. “She’s in no shape to take a three year hit!” Not to mention that paying out three years sounds like a good way to kill me. The most I’ve done at one time was at the socialite hit party, and that payout was only about six months total.

  “I’ll help you, baby,” Ophelia says. “It’ll take a while, but it will be fine.” She’s sending me looks that are supposed to calm me, but it’s not working. My heart races.

  “You can do it, Lirium,” Valac says, and he actually sounds sympathetic. “Take it nice and slow, let Ophelia help, and you’ll make it through.”

  “Three years isn’t going to help her if she’s sick!” I say, still trying to make sense of this. “It’s too much. Even if I go slow, she’ll be flying higher than a kite. It’ll just stress out her system—”

  “She’s not sick, Lirium,” Valac says, like I’m incredibly naïve. “Her manager is trying to rescue her career. He’s got some big audition lined up, and he wants her at her peak—”

  He stops because the bedroom door has opened. Pete and Anna step out, his arm again trapping her shoulder, but she’s lost the wild-eyed look of fear from before. In fact, as she gets closer, I can see her blue eyes have lost all their gleam. She doesn’t even look at us. Or anything. She’s a zombie that doesn’t see or care that she’s surrounded by debt collectors.

  Shit.

  I turn to Valac. “Can I have a word with you?” My voice is harsh, and I don’t wait for a response, just shove past Pete and head back to the bedroom again. I wait, fists clenched, until Valac finally shuffles in the door. I close it, not quite a slam, but almost.

  “He gave her something!” I shout at Valac, and he actually flinches.

  “Obviously.” It’s a resentful snarl.

  “We can’t… I can’t…” My arms are flung out with the impossibility of it. “God only knows what he’s given her! She’ll code out with even a reasonable sized hit! Not to mention three years. Jesus, Valac, it’ll kill her outright.”

  He rubs his hand across his face. “You’re not going to kill her.”

  “Damn right I’m not going to kill her. Because I’m not giving her a hit, much less a massive coronary-inducing one!” I start to pace back and forth in front of the door, fighting through my anger to find a way out of this. I need to do this payout so we can leave, and Ophelia and I can make our escape.

  Valac’s two hands press to the sides of his face, the fingertips digging in and working his temples. “You just… you just need to not think about it, Lirium. Just do it. Ophelia will help.”

  “It’s insane.” I stop my pacing and stand straight. I want to escape, but I’m not going to kill a drugged-up kid to get there. “I’m not going to do it, Valac.”

  He closes his eyes and stills the hands on his face. When he opens them, he looks at me with a sadness I don’t understand. “Please, little bird, please just do this. You can just…” He searches the room for the words he wants.

  I frown, waiting. I’m desperate for a way out of this, but I can’t imagine Valac’s going to find it in this dingy back bedroom.

  His gaze works its way back to me. “You can just give her some of the hit, okay? Not the whole thing. Let Ophelia help you. Give the girl enough to get her high and convince her manager that you’ve paid out.”

  My heart lifts. “Won’t he know the difference?” If I can pay out, but keep the girl alive, then Ophelia and I will still have our chance to escape. Otherwise, if I disobey an order, Kolek will go after my mom. Which means I have to make sure I escape or die trying. I’m sure Nico has instructions to shoot me if I make a run for it. He’s probably itching to do it anyway, so it shouldn’t take much to provoke him.

  “The manager’s an idiot. He’ll never know.”

  “But Nico—”

  “He won’t… he won’t care,” Valac says, although the way he hesitates makes me wonder what the hell is going on in Valac’s head.

  “I’ll just give her enough to get her high,” I check one more time.

  “Stretch it out,” Valac says with a sigh. “Make it look good.”

  I nod slowly, wondering when Valac went soft. And why. And if it has something to do with the boy. Maybe he just knows I won’t back down.

  “I can make it look good,” I say.

  The corner of his mouth lifts, and he places a hand on my shoulder. For once, I don’t mind. “I’m sure you can, little bird.” He drops his hand and gestures for me to go first through the door.

  I stride out, a strange lightness filling me. The feeling of freedom, of hope, is back. It makes my steps strong, carrying me out to the girl I hope is my last payout for the mob.

  I stretch out the hit to Anna for a full twenty minutes.

  Ophelia isn�
�t privy to my plan to only pay out a week or two, but she gives me a knowing look as soon as I slow the life energy transfer to a trickle. I insisted that Anna lay down, so we’re back in the bedroom with the girl stretched out on the moldy bed covering. Ophelia sits next to her on one side and I’m on the other. Our hands lay on her forehead, Ophelia’s on top of mine, but I’m doing all the work, such as it is. Taking it slow has the added benefit that I won’t be exhausted when we make a run for it, especially since Ophelia is boosting me as well. She’s countering the effects of the payout, giving me a high that lifts my hopes more with every passing minute.

  Any fool that cared to pay attention could tell I’m not paying out three years worth of life energy. Anna should be crawling out of her skin with the high, not lying still with a rosy blush that peeks out from her junkie makeup. I should resemble death, curling over and ready to hurl, not fighting to keep the smile off my face. But Nico and Larry are out in the front office, having grown bored after the first five minutes. The only way out is through the front door, so it’s no wonder they’re not worried.

  Valac watches us from the bedroom door, where Anna’s manager is smooth-talking him into some Hollywood sleaze business he has going. Valac keeps him engaged and away from us, and the manager barely spares us a look. I think Valac wants this payout scam to work as much as I do.

  When I stop transferring, I keep my palm to Anna’s forehead for a few moments more. I look at Ophelia, trying to communicate with my eyes that we’re on for the escape plan. We should get out as quickly as possible, just in case Nico does the math and figures out that twenty minutes was a hell of a short amount of time to pay out three years.

  She gives me a barely perceptible nod, so I lift my hand and ease up from the bed.

  “All done,” I say lightly to Pete-the-manager, interrupting his latest pitch to Valac.

  “Really?” Pete frowns at Anna, who Ophelia is helping up from the bed. But she hardly needs it. She’s flying now. The trickle was small, but it was like her body was starving for energy, for life. Whatever Pete gave her to bring her down has been completely counteracted.

  Anna bounces lightly on her toes. “Uncle Pete, you were right. This is just what I needed.”

  Uncle Pete? I have to work to keep the sourness off my face. And I’m still worried there will be some kind of delayed reaction, like there was for the middle-aged socialite. I hope not, but there’s nothing to do about it now. And that’s just more reason to beat a hasty exit.

  “Great!” I say. “Our work is done.” I beckon Ophelia with a wave of my hand, and she leaves Anna’s side to come to mine. Pete and Valac block the doorway, so I look Valac straight in the face and tilt my head slightly. Do we have a problem? I’m asking him.

  He turns to Pete, takes his hand, and shakes it. “It’s been a pleasure discussing business with you. Why don’t you and Anna stay in here for a little while? Take your time before leaving.” He puts his hand on Pete’s shoulder and glances at Anna, who is nose-to-the-wall, inspecting the pattern in the ancient, faded wallpaper. She’s still bouncing on her toes. Valac drops his voice. “She’s going to be a little unstable for a while. Better to keep her in a confined space until she comes down.”

  Pete frowns at Anna. “She’s going to be okay, right?”

  “Absolutely.” Valac gives his shoulder a squeeze. “Just keep an eye on her for a while.”

  Pete nods, strides over to Anna, and guides her back to the bed. I tilt my head toward the doorway, and Ophelia and I step through it. Valac follows us out, closing the door on his way. I shoot Ophelia a look as we walk down the hallway, but her eyes are swept forward, looking for Nico and Larry. They push up from the ratty couch where they had been lounging in the office. Larry looks like a thought hasn’t bothered his brain in a while, but Nico has a stony look that could be a frown. Or could just be his normal asshole expression.

  I ignore it and turn to Valac. “Well, looks like we’re done here.” I hold my hands out, as if I don’t have a care in the world: I’m just checking in with boss-man Valac to see if we’re done.

  He’s playing it cool, too. He turns to Nico and shrugs. “You ready?”

  Nico gives him a slight nod.

  Valac gestures to the door. “After you, Lirium.”

  I smile, but I’m grimacing inside. I don’t want to go first, and I certainly don’t want to be Valac’s boy toy pet this time through the club. I need to be within striking distance of Larry when Ophelia goes for open skin on Nico.

  I’ll just have to find an excuse to fall behind, once we get to the floor.

  I step toward the door. “I think I can handle the bar scene without you draped all over me this time, Valac.” I toss the words over my shoulder and throw a glance at Ophelia. She’s lingering back by Nico and Larry, standing in front of them and examining her nails, like she’s bored of this entire trip and ready to be done. They’re waiting for us, so I reach for the door knob.

  Valac’s on my heels. “Little bird,” he says softly just as I open the door. I almost don’t hear him over the wash of thrumming music that sweeps in from the bar.

  I twist back to him, and I see something out of the corner of my eye. My heart stops before my brain even realizes what it means.

  Nico is pulling on gloves.

  I finish turning to look at Valac. He grabs my face with both hands and kisses me.

  My heart spasms, and I grab for Valac’s face. I don’t want it smashed against mine, but more importantly I need skin contact before he starts to drain me. In the background, there’s a blur of motion and a high-pitched squeal. They’ve grabbed Ophelia.

  My fingers grip skin at Valac’s temples, and I suck life energy from him with everything I’ve got. He pulls back from mashing his face into mine, and my hands start to slide. I dig in with my fingers to keep hold. Only then do I realize that he isn’t draining the life out of me; he’s pumping energy into me. My eyes go wide. My hands and cheeks burn as energy floods in. The high rushes my brain, and surprise muddles it. Valac leans into me again, his hands still gripping my cheeks, mine still grasping his face.

  “I’m supposed to be killing you.” I can barely hear him over the noise from the bar. “So try to look like you’re dying.”

  I don’t have to fake the shocked look on my face. My heart pounds like a wild, delirious animal caged in my chest.

  “Kolek was never going to let you live, little bird,” Valac whispers against my cheek, loud enough for me to hear, but the club sounds mask his words from Nico and Larry. “You’re supposed to die here, just one more junkie found dead in the back of a skeet den.”

  I want to say something. Ask what the hell he’s doing. Ask why he’s not killing me. But I’m frozen in my need to carry off this ruse.

  “Go be free, little bird.” His words brush my face. “Go live a life worth living. I’m going to let go of you now. And when I do… you have to die. Make it look good.”

  My breathing finally catches up to my manic heart. My mind can’t grasp it, but Valac has a plan, and my gut tells me to go all in. I try to hold perfectly still, readying myself to drop like a corpse to the floor, but a muffled grunt draws my gaze past Valac’s face looming next to mine.

  I see it in slow motion: Ophelia’s head throws back into Nico’s face; he slowly crumples as she makes skin contact and his legs fail under him; Larry’s hand grips her shoulder and rips her away from Nico; Larry’s gun appears from nowhere and presses deep into Ophelia’s stomach.

  It fires.

  The sound cracks my ears. “Nooo!” The word rips from my throat.

  Ophelia’s eyes fly wide. Valac drops his hands from my face and twists to look. I tear away from him and fling myself toward her, but Valac yanks me back, pulling me off balance. I go down and sprawl on the floor. Ophelia sinks to her knees and grips her stomach. Confusion clouds her face.

  I scramble, but my feet can’t seem to get traction.

  Valac flings his arms wide and rushes at La
rry. He turns, gun forward, just in time for Valac to crash into him. Valac’s hands find Larry’s throat, but he’s not fast enough. Or the death seizure causes Larry’s trigger finger to jerk. A body-muffled gunshot rips through the air of the room again. Valac and Larry go down together, a thump that travels through my chest.

  They lie still.

  I half lunge, half crawl across the room.

  Four bodies. Motionless on the floor.

  Then Nico moves. I don’t see the gun until after I react, my hand on his forehead, slamming it down. His head pushes against Ophelia’s body, and I pull the life out of him in a massive surge that brands my hand. A guttural scream crawls out of my mouth. Nico goes limp. Ophelia’s crooked legs twitch, and my heart leaps.

  I reach my other hand to her, making skin contact and cycling the energy I’m pulling from Nico into her, hoping, praying. Something warms my knee on the floor, and when I look down, I see blood running away from her body.

  I sob and reach for the damp hole in her stomach, pressing my hand against it, pumping life energy in, and willing the hole to disappear. To stop bleeding. To heal miraculously because it has to; because I need it to; because I can’t let this happen.

  But the hole doesn’t change. Ophelia’s blood just leaks slowly around my fingers.

  I can’t breathe. Every part of me shakes. My hand loses contact with Nico’s head. I grab his wrist instead, to keep hold of him. To keep pumping his life into her.

  I feel the energy leaving my hand. I feel it sink into her body. But there is nothing beyond that. No vast ocean of stored life. No pressure of years pushing or pulling against me.

  The life energy disappears into nothingness.

  Her eyes stare at the ceiling, the surprise fixed on her face.

  Words sob out of me, but I don’t know what they are.

  My hand on Nico’s wrist goes cold. I lift it and stare at the red burn— an inch wide slash across my palm—like it belongs to someone else. I inch forward to bend over Ophelia’s face, brushing the hair back from it. I caress her cheeks with both my hands, but I only manage to smear her blood on her face.