The Acceptance s-2

by L. L. Foster

  “Was I in time?”

  The fingers briefly clenched. “I don’t know. We’ll find out soon.”

  The paramedic spoke. “She should go to the hospital, too.”

  Gaby freaked. “Fuck that. I’m fine.” Shoving aside the oxygen mask and knocking the paramedic away, she started to leave. Her reaction would only cause more alarm, but her astronomical fear of medical treatment kept her unable to temper herself.

  “Gaby—”

  “I said no.” She started walking, intent on leaving the scene before some damned do-gooder tried to strap her to a gurney.

  The way she’d seen Father strapped down.

  Cancer had stolen his thoughts, his personality, and left behind a stranger who required restraints.

  Gaby gasped, and choked again.

  Luther stepped in front of her. “Fine,” he said before she could draw back a fist. “You say you’re okay, then you’re okay. I believe you.”

  Her chest hurt, and only part of it was from the smoke and excitement. “Do you?”

  As black as a thundercloud, he dismissed the paramedic by saying to him, “We’re actually on our way to the hospital to see a friend.” His domineering attention swung back to Gaby. “If she’s not breathing easy when we get there, I’ll have her checked.”

  Holding up both hands, the paramedic said, “Not what I’d recommend, but suit yourself.”

  Shaken, feeling like a fool, Gaby closed her eyes and inhaled cautiously. “Thanks.”

  “I need you to sit. I need you to stay.”

  Her eyes snapped open again. “I am not your fucking pet.”

  His left eye twitched. “Unless you want to explain what drove you to go into that building, I need to see what happened here. But I can’t do that if I don’t know you’re safe and waiting for me to finish.”

  Looking beyond him, Gaby saw Mort and Ann watching. “I’m not explaining shit.”

  Luther remained silent, and damn it, she felt guilty. But she couldn’t explain. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

  “Fine. I’ll wait. But you could work a little on your verbal skills. Your idea of a request sucks.” Stomping despite her enervated state, Gaby left him growling and snarling, and went to Ann and Mort.

  Mort stepped toward her. “God Almighty, Gaby. Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine.” She pointed to a less-crowded section of sidewalk. “I’ll be waiting over there for Luther. You know, if he looks for me or anything.”

  Ann touched Mort’s arm. “Go with her. I’ll see what I can do about crowd control.”

  Still in her robe, barefoot and hair loose, Ann took charge like an army sergeant. Wasted in mind and spirit, Gaby watched her, and admired her forceful manner and deep blue aura. “You’ve got a live one, Mort.”

  “I know. She’s something, huh?”

  “Her aura tells me that she’s doing just what she was meant to do. That’s good. Not many people ever find their true purpose.” Together, Mort and Gaby went to the curb and sank down on their butts.

  Chewing her bottom lip, Gaby did her best to keep any further thoughts of Father at bay.

  Mort’s hand slipped into hers. “That was pretty damned scary.”

  Looking first at his hand, then his sincere face, Gaby frowned. “What?”

  “Running into a burning building? It’s not what most people would ever do. In fact, I don’t know anyone else who’d do it.”

  “I didn’t have a choice.”

  “I know that. But have you thought about how you’re going to explain it to Luther? You know he’s going to ask how you knew a body was in there.”

  “I know.” After what had happened with Bliss, he was already suspicious of her. But hell, it wasn’t like she could ignore the plea of the innocent, whether Luther Cross liked it or not.

  “That’s not what’s worrying you, is it?”

  “No.” She could deal with Luther. Somehow.

  But images, memories, kept crowding in, suffocating her. Hurting her.

  “Gaby?”

  Her eyes burned, so Gaby used her free hand to rub them. “I just . . . anything to do with hospitals and ambulances and all that . . .”

  “Oh.” His fingers squeezed hers. “You’re reminded of the guy who raised you?”

  “Father didn’t raise me.” The state had raised her—and they’d done a shitty job of it. “I didn’t even meet him until I was seventeen.” And then her life, her entire world, had changed.

  Someone approached with water and a wet cloth. Mort thanked them and accepted the items for Gaby.

  After a big swig of water that helped a little, she wiped her face. Soot covered her clothes, her hair and skin.

  Her thoughts.

  She stared off at nothing in particular. “I didn’t know him long enough, but he was the closest thing to family that I had.”

  Quietly, Mort said, “Take another drink. It’ll help take the sting out of your throat.”

  “Thanks.”

  As she guzzled the water, Mort cleared his throat. “What Ann said . . .”

  “Yeah.” She set the jug aside. “She’s right.” A trickle of water ran down her chin and dropped onto her chest. That felt good, too, cooling, so Gaby upended the jug and doused her head and shoulders. “I am a bitch, Mort. We both know it.”

  “You are not. It’s just that Ann’s defensive of me.”

  “She cares for you.” Using the cloth again, Gaby cleaned her face the best she could—but there was only so much she could do to put off the inevitable. She owed Mort an apology. “I’m sorry.”

  “Gaby, don’t.”

  “Ann hit it dead-on. I have been cruel.” She snorted at herself. “Hell, I’m usually cruel.”

  “You’re a paladin. You save people.”

  “Fucking hero worship.” Some things never changed. “Stow it or I’ll puke, okay? I’m an asshole and that’s all there is to it. You deserve better.”

  “Okay, so you can be abrasive.” In a show of camaraderie, Mort nudged her with his shoulder. He was teasing, friendly. “You are the best, and I’m proud to call you my friend.”

  Damn. How had she gotten so blessed? Gaby sat there, numb and hurt and horribly afraid—for things she might lose, things she hadn’t known were hers.

  Caring could be a real bitch.

  Ann strode up, then sat down beside her. “Mort, give us a second, okay?”

  “Sure thing, honey.” He stood without another word and walked away.

  “He minds well.”

  “Don’t start, Gaby.”

  “Sorry.” Wondering what Ann wanted, dreading it a little, Gaby waited.

  Ann put her elbows on her knees and clasped her hands. Sunlight gilded her fair hair, fighting with the dulling effects of smoke. She looked like a smudged angel, like Luther’s counterpart.

  But she loved Mort. Gaby could see that. She doubted Ann or Mort knew it yet, but they were meant to be together.

  Strange. But kind of nice.

  Ann let out a long breath. “Okay, so you’re the weirdest, scariest, and most capable person I’ve ever come across.”

  Well, she hadn’t expected that. Closing her burning eyes, Gaby tried to meter her breaths.

  “You’re also the bravest.”

  Rasping past the numbing effects of memories and excess sentiment, Gaby said, “Bravery has shit to do with it.”

  “Modest, too.”

  Oh God. A woman could only take so much. Gaby reclined against the hot pavement and draped the damp cloth over her face.

  Ann wasn’t deterred.

  “You didn’t even know the woman in that building, did you, Gaby?”

  Hell, she hadn’t known for sure it was a woman until they’d reached the outdoors. “No.”

  “But you ran into that blaze anyway.”

  Gaby shrugged. It was her duty. She’d been told to go, so she went. Not that Ann would understand.

  “You’d have gone in for Mort—or me.”

  If God tol
d her to . . . No. She wouldn’t play games with herself. Not anymore. Luther’s presence had somehow counteracted God’s command—and still, she had to go.

  If someone, especially someone she knew, was at risk, and she could help, then it wouldn’t matter what God had to say about it.

  Tears burned her eyes and clogged her throat. “Fucking smoke.” Using the cloth, she swiped her eyes.

  “Gaby?”

  “Yeah.” Sitting up, she tossed the cloth to the side. “I’d have gone in for you. Happy?”

  “I’d say I’m more enlightened than happy. But we’re getting there.”

  “Dandy.”

  Ann laughed, but quickly sobered. “How did you know?”

  Shit, shit, shit. Playing dumb, Gaby asked, “Know what?”

  “That she was in there?”

  Here we go again. “I heard her.” Looking Ann dead in the eyes, Gaby asked, “Didn’t you?”

  “I didn’t hear anything.”

  “Huh. I guess I’ve got exceptional hearing.”

  Not the least bit fooled, Ann nodded. “I guess so.” She patted Gaby’s knee. “It’s definitely time for me to get that shower. Take care of yourself, okay?”

  “I always do.”

  Ann no sooner left, giving Gaby some respite, than a shadow fell over her. She knew it was Luther, and she wasn’t in the mood for his complaints. “Not now.”

  He knelt down in front of her and took her hands. “We’re sharing, remember?”

  His mood had changed. Again. He shifted tempers quicker than a teenage girl on her period. Right now, he was in comfort mode, and Gaby didn’t know if she could take it. Her throat felt raw, her eyes scratchy.

  Camouflaging her loss of composure, she replied with acrimony. “How could I forget?”

  His big hand cuddled the side of her face. “I have a bad feeling—”

  “Then your feelings are dead-on, cop, because, yeah, it’s related.”

  Luther cursed quietly under his breath. “Are you certain?”

  That’s it? He wouldn’t question her beyond that one request for affirmation? Wonder of wonders.

  Gaby nodded, and that seemed to galvanize Luther into action. He went to the officer in charge of taking names from the crowd, and issued new orders.

  It wouldn’t do him any good.

  The person responsible had already skipped away, gone before the flames took hold, leaving Gaby with a duty that superseded his capture.

  Clever mastermind? Or sick sadist bent on any form of destruction?

  More would happen. A lot more.

  Until the degenerate fiend got his hands on a woman to torment, he’d wreak havoc in every other way imaginable.

  He needed a hooker.

  Perhaps it was time for Gaby to take up a new profession.

  * * *

  Utilizing infinite care, Oren stowed the syringes in a small case. If they thought the mayhem would end with one measly fire—a fire that hadn’t even killed the bitch he’d stowed inside the building—then they’d be in for a delightful surprise.

  Not that the woman’s life would matter much, one way or the other. He’d found her nearly insensible with drugs at a crack house. Being near there had frightened him, but also given him other ideas. Addicts were easy to manipulate. So were transients. And here, in this slum area, both were plentiful.

  Tonight, tomorrow, and the day after, he’d wreak havoc. He’d keep that fucking cop and beanpole bitch so preoccupied, they wouldn’t have time to worry about a group of worthless whores. In fact, now that he’d seen the beanpole take money from the cop, she ranked right up there with the other sluts.

  If he could get to her, he would. She’d be his first pick.

  But it’d be tricky. He wouldn’t underestimate her.

  Against all odds, she’d charged into that fire and carried out the junkie as if misplaced heroism ran through her veins.

  Interfering cunt. When he had her locked securely in his basement, he’d teach her what it meant to get in his way. He wouldn’t let Aunt Dory or Uncle Myer end her tutelage too soon. She’d pay, long and dear.

  By the time he finished, she’d be begging for death.

  Excited by his own plans, hands shaking and smile tremulous, Oren finished his preparations in a rush. Leaving his private rooms, he headed down the stairs—and overheard his aunt and uncle talking about him. Temper prickling, he paused to listen.

  “Do you know what she’s going to do?”

  “Don’t you ever learn?” Uncle Myer snapped.

  “I just forget sometimes, that’s all,” Aunt Dory whined. “It’s . . . confusing.”

  Staying firm, Uncle Myer grabbed her arm. “If you slip up in front of him, he’s likely to beat you to death. Do you want that?”

  “You wouldn’t save me?”

  “I’m trying to save you now. Thanks to Oren, we have a big house and plenty of money to spend, and we can feed our fetishes. Do you want to ruin it all with your stupid mouth?”

  “No.” Aunt Dory, never knowing when to shut up, asked, “But doesn’t Oren need us, too?”

  “Not anymore. Oren can be anyone he wants, and he can start over anywhere he wants.”

  “But . . . we know things about him.”

  “He knows the same things about us! Before he’d let us blab to anyone, he’d kill us in our sleep. Now shut up about it and do what you’re told, what Oren tells you to do. Soon he’ll have another playmate for us. Won’t that make you happy?”

  Glee tinged her voice when Aunt Dory said, “Yes. Yes, that’d be perfect. I can’t wait. I hope Oren bags a body for us soon.”

  “Trust me. He’s good. He knows what he’s doing. It won’t be long now.”

  Thanks to that last volley of compliments, Oren’s fury faded. They respected him and what he could do. They nearly revered him. Because of that, he’d let them live.

  For now.

  But Uncle Myer was right. He no longer needed either of them. Living without them wouldn’t be his choice right now. He liked things the way they were. But if he heard Dory blabbing about females again, he’d cut her fat throat and watch her gurgle to death.

  Oren pictured it in his mind: Dory’s fat face jiggling with fear, her blood running warm and wet down her flesh, her life slowly draining away until finally, her eyes went flat and empty. Yes.

  He’d enjoy that.

  He’d enjoy that a lot.

  It was something to think about. For the future. When he got bored.

  Luckily for Dory, he had other, more pertinent things to attend to right now.

  Chapter 10

  Stationed out front of the flophouse, mirrored sunglasses reflecting some of the late-afternoon sunshine, Gaby slumped against the outer wall. Gaze ever watchful, senses attuned to any misdeed, she heard Jimbo raise his voice and turned her head to listen.

  He issued orders to the hookers, demanding that they move up the block to get more business.

  Stupid prick. Lazily rousing herself, Gaby climbed to her feet, dusted off her ass, and looked toward Jimbo with a caustic intensity she wanted him to feel.

  Uneasily, his gaze slithered her way. He ignored her notice and went back to berating the women, who hesitated to budge from the safety of Gaby’s realm.

  She’d spooked them all, being deliberately graphic in her depiction of the dead woman’s body in the river, and the attempted abduction of Bliss. She wanted them to be scared enough that they’d defy Jimbo’s orders in favor of their own safety.

  It worked, as now all the women packed together and refused to budge.

  Trying to brazen his way past Gaby’s disapproval, Jimbo straightened to his full, meager height and raised a fiduciary fist at Alma.

  “I wouldn’t.”

  Jimbo redirected his anger at Gaby. “Stay the fuck out of this.”

  Pushing her sunglasses to the top of her head to sear him with the full impact of her hostility, Gaby strolled closer to the contretemps. “You and I need to have a talk,
Jimbo.”

  “Fuck that. You might’ve spooked Carver with your witchy mumbo jumbo bullshit, but I’m not buying it.”

  Witchy mumbo jumbo? Seeing the fear in Jimbo’s eyes, Gaby decided hey, whatever works. She stepped closer. “You do buy it, Jimbo. Even now, your pulse is sputtering and you’re getting sweaty.”

  “It’s hot out here!”

  “Wise up, Jimbo. What good will dead hookers do you? As long as they’re close by, I can keep them safe. But if you scatter them, I can’t be everywhere—”

  He slashed a hand through the air, coming within a millimeter of striking Gaby. She didn’t flinch, didn’t move other than to narrow her eyes, and that gave him visible pause.

  He gulped, and argued, “One dead hooker doesn’t put the rest in danger.”

  Fed up with his recusant stupidity, her gaze level with his, Gaby tsked. “You couldn’t be more wrong, dumb ass. The same person who killed Lucy also tried to get to Bliss. He wants another body to play with. Then he’ll want another after that. And after that, too.”

  “Unless you stop him? Right.” Jimbo tried to shove her out of his space, but Gaby didn’t budge an inch, and that, more than anything else, washed the color from his face. “Look, you don’t even know for sure it was the same guy after Bliss.”

  “I know.”

  “How’s that possible? Bliss doesn’t even know who came after her.” He tried for a laugh that fell flat. “I heard that one minute she says it was a guy, and the next it was a woman. You know what I think? She’s fucked up and saying whatever she needs to say so she can keep resting on her lazy ass.”

  Deliberately bumping her chest into his, Gaby snarled through her teeth, “You want me to kill you, Jimbo, is that it?”

  “God damn, bitch. Bring it down a notch, will you? I’m just saying—”

  “You’re saying all the wrong things.”

  Gaby’s knife, which she’d withdrawn from her sheath without Jimbo even noticing, pressed against his balls. The second he realized the placement of the blade, his eyes bulged in terror.

  Nudging the knife snug against him, Gaby said, “What I want you to say is that you comprehend the seriousness of the threat. I want you to say that you won’t do anything to put any women at risk, especially these women who look to you for protection. I want you to acknowledge that I will get the bastard doing this, but until then, you’ll damn well do as you’re told—or suffer the consequences.”