by Lin Lustig
Then again, everyone seemed to flock to John. Even him.
John was betting his reputation against UHP's, and his odds didn't look good. Bloggers and soft news sources were already butchering John's interview. Sound clips were pulled out of context and mocked. A meme was trending of John fucking genetically altered pigs. What was wrong with people? At this rate, his plans to use this to turn the public's favor against UHP would fail by the end of next week.
The Anons, however, blossomed. Emerson flagged over a dozen suspicious new accounts, banning them from requesting user info and meet ups where he could, but another two-dozen seemed legitimate, offering support and suggestions on how to stay under the radar. But they also posted warnings.
Russian government was rumored to permanently remove anyone displaying unusual traits. A handful of Dubai businessmen were offering rewards for proof of Abnormals, leading to a frenzy of kidnappings across the middle east. The Queen of England had rejected any of the so-called evidence UHP presented and encouraged the country to carry on. White supremacists in the States called for man-hunts. The world would have been better off if Abnormals had remained quiet.
Then, on Tuesday, a week after UHP had released its official statement of Abnormals existing, The General Assembly of Natural Faith announced they would be attending UHP's Halloween gala with a massive contribution. The article supported their medicinal cleanse of the Abnormal problem, stating that it took unnatural solutions to solve unnatural problems. That gala was now the biggest politically-charged event of the year.
All of it combined into one message. It wasn't safe. Not anymore. Emerson couldn't keep hiding from John and the others. As much as he wanted to stop John and Licia from hurting Abnormals, there was a bigger threat of public opinion. Emerson's determined heart and confused mind agreed on one thing: he needed to keep John, Azami, and even Licia safe from the approaching storm, because when lighting struck, Emerson knew only he could devour the blow.
Damn, he was hungry.
CHAPTER 40
John
“John, it's two in the morning on our fucking night off. Why, for the love of tits, are you calling me?” Prisha's voice was hoarse with sleep. He smiled at the sound. Some time he'd like to sleep next to her, not just with her. The idea caught him so off guard he forgot why he called.
“Uh, right. Sorry. I'll call you back in the morning.” The day had been overwhelming, dealing with the media backlash. Yesterday, he’d told Glen he would approach Aubrey at the gala to find Tarrah. He was growing increasingly anxious over her. The visions had slowed even more. If he was too late to save her, he would never forgive himself.
“You can't just leave me teetering on the edge. What's going through that beautiful—yet empty—head of yours?”
John only had a few minutes before Licia was done in the bathroom, then she'd be curling up on the love seat they’d relocated to the side of his room from the theater room, demanding silence. With her, Glen, Azami, and Emerson, a four-bedroom condo had never felt so crowded. Or justified.
“I...” he let out a flustered breath. “I need a costume for the gala.”
“The gala's on Sunday and you're just now remembering you need a costume?” Prisha really did sound annoyed, which made him anxious. Then a slithering tendril of calm snuggled around him. He figured he'd annoyed her so much earlier that she’d throw him to the wolf—AKA Prisha.
Calmer, he said. “It's been a crazy week. You still want me to go, right?”
She scoffed. “We'll discuss costumes tomorrow.”
He let out a relieved breath. It occurred to him that he might not be wanted anymore, but this was Prisha. She was solid. “Goodnight beautiful.”
“Fuck off,” she said, a smile in her voice. “G'night.”
LICIA
Licia waited for the soothing brush of her emotions to no longer be necessary. Not that she should be helping him. She should be mad at him, but when it came to John... well, he was always the exception.
She finished brushing her teeth and rinsed, taking her time so John could finish his phone call. His voice sounded genuine and soft as indistinct words murmured through the door. Perhaps he actually cared about this particular fuckbuddy. He'd always slept around, but between his romance with Emerson and now his emotional attachment with that Prisha woman, Licia couldn't help thinking that John was changing.
Not that it mattered. She'd stay out of his head and heart, but when she opened the bathroom door into the bedroom, John was hunched on the bed, his naked, sculpted back aglow in the city light slipping in past his curtains.
“Everything alright?” she asked before thinking better of it.
He tipped towards her without raising his eyes. “Peachy.” The word came out like a tired sigh.
She sat on the edge of the mattress, the material softer than she was accustomed to, so she listed to the side. Their shoulders touched, but she didn't yank away. She had a shirt on, so there was a buffer. The contact felt reassuring. She shouldn't be indulging herself like this. It was too dangerous to let her guard down.
He leaned his head down against hers, his temple buried somewhere in her hair. She stilled but didn't feel any jolt of arousal from the contact. Either he was maintaining control or drained down.
“Can I tell you a secret?” John's voice was slow and a little thick. She couldn't blame him for being tired; a lot had happened, though she wasn't interested in rehashing it with him.
“If you must.” A flicker in her wards gave her the taste of a strawberry that wasn't quite ripe. Melancholy, perhaps?
“I don't know if I can do this. That girl, Tarrah, she's been suffering for who knows how long because of me, and I can’t even find her.”
Licia relaxed more into the lean, letting her body reflect her heart. “You didn't cause us to be this way. Others would have caught on no matter what. We won't let this time be like it was with Azami.”
Azami had spent years on the move just in case, learning everything she could about genetics and their abilities. Licia had given up trying to understand her own specialization, especially after she’d had to learn how not to use it as a defense mechanism. Learning something was easy, but unlearning was nearly impossible.
Licia had had to shatter who she’d been to adapt and survive. Her first kill had done that. Azami had broken when Aubrey ran her experiments, but Licia had taken her in and showed her how to rebuild. Maybe she would do the same for Tarrah when they freed her.
A muscle twanged in her neck. She tried to move upright, but her body froze. John made a questioning noise, but she couldn't respond. A flare of panic made her chest tight until she recognized a sense of pressure building behind her eyes. Damnit. The room lost depth, then lost color. As her vision whited out, she wished she were alone. If she snapped like last time, she might hurt John.
Her eyes stopped transmitting the room and instead she was launched back to a vivid memory.
“Going smoothly?” Licia hissed as John snuck her in. The scrubs were surprisingly comfortable, but a horrid shade of blue. Anything but black felt wrong. She was in the medical headquarters for WHRP back in California. The part of Licia that still knew this was a memory shuddered.
John checked over his shoulder, shrugged, and rushed to the pale, thin form of Azami in her wheelchair. He'd managed to send off the other nurses attending her using what little clout he had from being Aubrey's right-hand. “Azami, hey, my name is John. Do you want to get out of here?”
“Out?” Azami's eyes wandered across his face and beyond, circling back. Licia saw it now, how skeletal Azami was, how weak she looked. Licia felt through the scrubs to her own protruding hip bones and grimaced.
“Freedom. We came to free you. I'm John and this is Licia.”
Azami's eyes watered and she nodded. Licia's heart broke. She wrapped her arms around the girl, searching through her for vestiges of hope and love, and imparting her own emotions of safety and a promise: she wouldn't let anything like th
is happen to her ever again. Azami took Licia's hand and gripped it like her life depended on it. Then again, maybe it did. John wheeled them down a hallway with internal windows, each with drawn blinds. Were there patients waiting for Azami's blood in those rooms? Or had UHP found more like them?
They made it to the elevator.
“I knew you hadn't changed your mind.” Aubrey said, appearing behind them. Her curly red hair framed her face. The lab coat didn't fit her well.
“Hey baby, I thought Azami might like going for a walk. Boost her spirits.” John turned on the charm to max and a brush of arousal pulsed between Licia's legs.
“Uh-huh. And who else have you dragged into your scheme?”
Licia sulked. If she didn't face her directly, then maybe his wife wouldn't recognize her from weeks ago at the clinic. She had no idea Licia was another like John, and damned if she was going to let her find out.
“She's just a nurse,” John answered.
Aubrey's eyes darted to Azami's hold on Licia's hand, then to her face. Recognition settled in her gaze. “It's against protocol to touch her.”
“Ah yes, well.” John's shoulder flexed as he searched for an excuse. Aubrey didn't wait, she opened her phone and hit a button. Alarms lit up. Licia hit the elevator button again and the doors opened. She backed Azami in, but John stayed.
“Get your ass in here,” Licia called.
Aubrey talked over her. “You're not going anywhere. Security is on every level. Nowhere to go. Sorry, baby. We can run some tests on you next. I wonder if Azami's blood would reset your libido. We haven't tried Abnormal to Abnormal transfers yet.”
Roiling heat sweltered Licia's thoughts as her rage surged. Azami yanked her hand away and cowered. Shit, her walls weren’t strong enough for something like this. Not that it mattered. She would always be feared, even by the people she loved. It was comforting—familiar—to be here as a monster rather than John's pet. It was... freeing.
She lunged forward and grabbed the back of John's shirt, tugging him off balance. He stumbled into the elevator as she stepped out. She overwhelmed his conflicted emotions, drowning him, shutting down his ability to choose. Licia could taste the CEO's contempt, the tar-like flavor making her choke. She fought through it to cram fear into the woman, making her falter.
Licia reached back inside the elevator, slapped the ground floor button and waited in the white hall while the doors slid shut. At least from in there they'd have a little protection. The further away they went, the safer they'd be.
It had been so long since Licia let go. She shivered and struggled with her conscience as she stood alone facing Aubrey. It didn't matter, she convinced herself. She'd never be welcomed, even by her own people. The best she could do was take down the threat and live with the consequences.
As Aubrey backed away, security ran from the far end of the hall, growing closer and closer. Licia lowered her walls. Completely.
Pressure eased from Licia's mind as the vision faded. The taste of tar was replaced with her own sour fear. She knew her ability was anathema. When she lost control, she took out anyone near her, no matter their sins. And it wasn't just suicide. She could cripple them with mania, carve into them with hatred, and let them crumple in on themselves by fearing even the simplest things. She was a walking weapon of emotional death. Did she even deserve to be alive?
“Licia? Licia!” John barked her name. He was in front of her, or no. Beside her? The world was sideways, but she oriented to lying on the bed next to him, though he was upright.
Her walls and wards were shattered. Emotions all over the building rushed through her, as her own emotions infected them. John's fear wasn't his, but a reflection of hers.
Then the other emotions came. The ones miles away, the ones from a young woman trapped in a little room—afraid and sick and empty. Defeat. Hopelessness. Desperation. The taste was like dandelion coffee, bitter and a little sour.
She grabbed John's wrist because she needed to know her body was hers to control, her mind was hers, her heart was hers. Touching him created an ache, but it meant she was real. She was here. It took a couple of breaths, but she reined in the emotional chaos and swallowed the unappetizing smoothie of erratic flavors. The wild look in John's eyes settled and he lay down beside her.
He searched her eyes. “Sorry. You froze up. I knew what was probably happening, but then—”
“That was me. Don't worry about it.” She could feel his pulse under her fingertips, the steady little beat making her own slow and relax while her abdomen tensed. For once she didn’t care. It was a small price to pay for staying in control.
“What did you see?”
She shook her head, not ready to talk. An image sat in the back of her mind. The face of a young woman, her ashen skin oddly papery, her hair matted down, and her molasses eyes staring into Licia. Was that her? Those eyes were haunted depths, void of any joy and barely clinging to life.
“I can't make the same mistake this time. The visions, that's what they're telling me.”
“They’re just memories; they aren't telling us anything.” He kept his voice low and soothing.
Licia put her free hand on his chest, right at his heart, begging him. “We’re running out of time. I saw her.”
“What? How?”
Licia shook her head, then pressed up, breaking their touch. “I have to get to her. I can’t be here.”
John raised up as well and held her back. “Licia. Alicia Sheehan. You can’t do this alone. We’ll get her out together.”
Licia was taken aback, not only had he used her name (which raised unwelcome memories), but because he still believed she was like them—good.
“You're all terrified of me. You know what I am.” She stood, stepping away from the bed, but his strong arms wrapped around her torso, pulling her back against his chest. His cardamom and clove scent was worn and mild, the cologne barely more than a memory. She shouldn't let him touch her anymore, but it felt good, the pressure of his arms kept her together. The heat of his body at her back melted something of her horrors away. She wanted to give in, to rest back and feel his skin and breath. To taste—no. He was affecting her. That was all.
Such foreign desires, and yet so natural she couldn't ignore them. It changed from the repulsive sensation of ants across her skin to a soft blanket wrapping around her, tightening against her core.
“Please. I need you. Don't leave me, too,” John whispered.
For one weak, pathetic moment, Licia rested her head back on his collar bone and closed her eyes. “You don't need me.”
But she didn't pull away. Instead she eased out of his grip and sat on the bed, suddenly so tired her eyes faltered. He didn’t touch her, but curled up beside her and closed his eyes, seemingly content to be this close. She lay with him, her forehead almost touching his. Would it be so bad to give in? To, for once, feel a bone deep comfort? But the problem was, if she did, she wasn’t sure she’d ever be able to stop.
No matter what, she couldn't run from doing what was necessary. This time she'd do it right—permanently, but as she brushed a lock of his blond hair back from his forehead, she knew John would never forgive her.
CHAPTER 41
Tarrah
Was this the real world, or still a dream? Neither. Both. Did it matter?
Her world wasn't just the body she'd been born into, it expanded along those swells and dips that led her away, but they also brought her back.
There was no one in her hospital room this time. It was dark and the clock ticked by the solemn seconds as night crept closer. It was finally snowing. Thick white flakes, playfully tumbling through the air. Free. So free.
The bonds had been removed from her wrists and ankles. She'd exhausted herself to the point she couldn't fight anymore. This was her fate then.
Fine. This was how it was; she could adapt as long as she got to hold onto one thing: them.
This hospital room wasn't where she belonged. This was the world where
she didn't matter. She'd be turned into a weapon against others like her, and they would never know she was here. Instead she could live within their reality and belong, even if no one knew her.
There was that moment, though, just as she started to fall back into her body. It felt like Licia had somehow reached back and seen her.
If she was destined to have no say in her life, then she had one last request to make to the universe: to watch them burn this place to the ground—her along with it.
CHAPTER 42
John
Wednesday—earlier than he wanted to admit—John woke to Licia slipping from bed and leaving his room. There was no getting back to sleep after that. No forgetting how she’d felt in his arms, or how she'd given into his hold, even if only for a moment. He raked a hand through his hair, letting his fingernails scrape along his scalp, hoping they would invigorate his mind and spark an idea. None came.
He was going to do this. He'd get through to Aubrey and find a way to Tarrah. First, he had to survive the final two shows and find a costume to conceal his identity at the gala.
After a quick shower, John wandered through the living room into the kitchen. He jumped. Glen and Azami were sitting in opposite corners of the room engrossed by their phones, silent and still as grave markers. He couldn't recall them having an actual conversation, at least not beyond small talk.
“You know, Glen helped us back then, when we got you out.” John grabbed an apple from the ceramic fruit bowl and washed it. There was a funny ball of irritation lumped at the base of his throat, like everything was building into a pearl he longed to cough up.
Azami sat up. “Oh. Thank you.”
“Just doing my part to help.” Glen focused back on his screen.
“Your part?” Azami tilted her head.
John sat at the bar and munched on the apple, trying to force that lump down. He needed to fill the silence. It gave his mind too much free space to linger on things that could never be. Somehow, he felt guilty after holding Licia against him, like he'd taken something that wasn't his to take. “He's known Licia longer than either of us. They're close.” John explained between bites.