Dark Embrace

by Angie Sandro

  “Dena!” Heat boils inside. He dares to touch me? Sure, I turned myself over to him, but I’m not his property. He can’t control me. He thinks we’re the same, but he’s nothing. Less than nothing.

  I grit my teeth against the invading rage. It infects me. This isn’t my anger. It has the feel of my nightmares. I sense rather than see the black smoke coalesce around the guy’s body ’cause of the shadows we stand in. But then one of the shadows strikes.

  “No…no, stop!” I shout at the shadow, willing it to obey like it did in the alley. Only it’s too filled with rage to hear. I need this bastard to get answers. I won’t have any way of figuring out the truth without him. But it’s too late.

  The man screams—a wordless cry of agony. He beats at his skin as it chars, flaking to ash. Fat runs from his frame to form a spreading puddle at my feet. He burns, and I scream in incoherent fury at the shadow.

  A hand grabs my arm and whips me around. I’m still screaming, only this time at Anders. Too late, he’s finally come to my rescue. I slap at his hands, not sure what I’m yelling. I think I’m ordering him to stop or telling the shadow to stop. It doesn’t matter in the end.

  Anders stands over the man’s burning remains. He steps back and clutches his stomach as if he’s about to vomit. “What did you do?”

  It takes a minute for the accusation to sink in. I stare at him with my mouth hanging open. My brain shuts down, overloaded. I don’t know what to say.

  Anders’s hands grip my shoulders. “Answer me, Dena.” He punctuates each word with a shake. Spit flies from his lips, sprinkling my face. A pulsing vein stands out on his forehead. “You killed him. How?”

  “I didn’t!” Shaking my head, I twist my shoulders and pull free, careful not to use my new strength. That would be disastrous. “I didn’t kill him. I tried to stop it.”

  Anders thrusts his face in mine. “Don’t lie. You touched him, and he caught on fire. I’m not sure how, but I’ll figure it out.”

  “You’re delusional…” I back away, shaking out my clothing. “How would I set him on fire? Do you see an accelerant? I know, I puked gasoline all over him. Did you taste the gasoline I drank with my beer when you kissed me?” My words jumble, coming faster and faster. Not making a lick of sense. But neither does his accusation.

  I pull my pockets inside out. “No matches.” I choke on a sob. “Come on…You know the shadow killed him. You were right here, Anders. You saw it. I know you saw it!”

  “There’s no such thing as a murderous shadow. The only thing I saw was you!” He snatches for me. I lunge backward, ducking his outstretched arm, then pivot on my heel and sprint toward the flashing lights of the patrol car pulling in front of my house. I’m verging on the edge of hysterics by the time I reach my yard.

  Deputy Winters, the same deputy who found me in the alley, grabs me as I try to run past. “Dena? Stop, stop you’re safe.” She pulls me to the side of the driveway. “What happened?”

  “She’s being detained for suspicion of murder!” Anders yells, coming up from behind. He spins me around and snaps a handcuff on my right wrist. Surprised, I jerk my arm to the side a little too hard and the metal cuff strikes Anders on the head. He falls to his knee, and I stumble away from him.

  Another deputy who outweighs me by a hundred pounds—he’s a big boy—blindsides me. One minute I’m on my feet, and the next, I’m eating dirt. He presses a knee into my spine, wrenches my arms behind my back, and slaps on the dangling cuff.

  More concerned with dragging air into my lungs, I don’t think about fighting. I’ll only be in worse trouble. Winters and the other deputy each grab an elbow and haul me upright. I feel woozy. Rather than two deputies, I see four…or six. My stomach rolls, and I heave. Winters sidesteps the vomit, but doesn’t release her hold on the handcuffs.

  “Put her in your car, Kyle,” Anders orders the deputy holding me upright. “After the scene’s secure, I’ll take her to the station. Eva and I will prep for the crime scene techs.”

  Kyle grunts his assent. He half drags me to the car as I stumble, off balance. My head’s spinning. It’s all I can do not to vomit again. Part of me wants to shout. To protest how unfair this is, but what’s the point? Anders sees and hears what he wants. All his talk of trust…lies. His kiss, manipulation. He lulled me into a false sense of security. None of what happened earlier reflects the truth.

  I’m done appealing to him. But self-pity is a luxury I can’t indulge in. My only lead’s a burned carcass in the middle of the road, and I’m going to jail for his murder. How crazy is that?

  The area in the back of the patrol car is tight, and my legs begin to cramp. I eye the giant leaning against the side of the car, making sure he’s not paying attention to me, then lift my legs and scrunch my butt up over my hands until I’m cuffed in the front.

  I wrap my arms over my raised knees, wiping my face on my jeans. These are the last tears I plan to cry. I’m strong. I’ll figure out what the hell’s going on. The first problem is dealing with my arrest.

  I stare out the fogged window. I flash back to the second gunman’s head exploding upon impact from the bullet. From my position in the car, I can see the dead men piled one on top of the other like cords of wood, bodies nothing but lifeless husks. One moment they were trying their best to kill Anders and me, and the next, they were dead.

  As I focus on the bodies, sweat breaks out across my skin, and I shiver. I’m missing something…I replay the scene in my mind. The first gunman burst in through the door. He blocked the entrance. Anders shot him. He fell back onto the second man, pinning him to the ground.

  I blink and rub my eyes. The position of their bodies has changed. The first man, the one who fell on top of his partner, lies on the ground. Did the officers move the bodies? I doubt that’s procedure. From everything I’ve seen on TV, they’re supposed to wait for the medical examiner. I scrub the condensation from the window, trying to see.

  The movement—a twitch of his outstretched arm—jars the body of the man lying beneath him and spills a little more gray matter onto my porch. The man’s head rotates. The whites of his eyes blaze as they roll in my direction.

  The scream seems yanked from my chest. Full and deep, using every bit of the air I hoarded from the moment I realized the man still lives. When the sound trails off, I scream again, trying to get someone’s attention, but Anders and Winters are inside the house.

  The other deputy, Kyle, stands on the opposite side of the car from the bodies, oblivious to the supposed dead man who rolls into a crouch and moves toward us in a laborious, lumbering shamble that quickly gains speed. I pound on the window. The sound of the cuffs striking glass rings out.

  Kyle glares, throwing open the driver’s-side door. He leans in to slide open the Plexiglas window dividing the front half of the car. “Shut up,” he orders, pulling out a can of pepper spray. He aims it at my eyes.

  I freeze, not from the threat of being sprayed, which is what Kyle obviously thinks, but because the man reaches him. Before I can warn him, he grabs Kyle by the waist and pulls him from the car. One arm wraps around his neck. Kyle wraps his hands around the arm, but he can’t break the dead man’s grip. His face reddens then darkens to purple from lack of oxygen. His fingers scratch bloody furrows in the dead man’s arm as he suffocates. The wounds stop bleeding almost immediately.

  It doesn’t take long for Kyle to lose consciousness, but the man doesn’t release him. Even as I scream at him to let Kyle go, he keeps on the pressure. His cold eyes, devoid of emotion, remain locked on mine. After several minutes, he smiles and releases Kyle, who slides to the ground.

  He reaches for the door handle to open the rear door. I grab the arm rest, using all my considerable new strength to keep it closed. He jerks the door. The sound of ripping metal fills the air as he tears the door from the car.

  “Oh shit!” Dude’s crazy. I roll onto my stomach. The safety lock on the opposite door refuses to budge. I scream, repeatedly, for Anders or W
inters. Either one would be better than nothing. The man’s hands clamp onto my ankles. I kick my feet, trying to break his grip. He grunts and drags my body across the seat.

  My fingers scrabble for something to hold onto. Every time I get a good grip, he yanks on my feet and tears my fingers loose. Blood runs down my palms from my torn nails. With a final pull, I’m jerked from the car. My head hits the sidewalk.

  * * *

  The pain of my skin being scraped off wakes me. I’m being dragged down the street by my heels. Blood soaks my shirt. I twist, rolling sideways and kicking my feet to break the man’s grip. From behind, Anders shouts for him to stop.

  The man moves unnaturally fast. He releases one of my ankles, turns, and fires his gun in one graceful movement, like a ballerina doing a pirouette.

  Anders flies backward. His body smacks the ground so hard that he bounces. I pray for him to get up, but I can tell by the contorted position of his body that he’s been hurt bad. He’s not getting up any time soon—maybe never—and my chest tightens. The only thing giving me hope is that I don’t see the vortex. It hasn’t come for his soul.

  Come to think of it, if I’d thought to look for it when the assassins got shot, I would’ve known they’d come back as zombie terminators.

  Winters runs from the side of the house where she’d been concealed in the shadows. She slides across the grass like she’s heading for home plate, rolls into a protective crouch over Anders, raises her gun and fires. The impact of her bullets thrust the man holding my leg backward. Blood flowers on the front of his shirt. He releases my ankle to point his gun at Winters.

  “Watch out!” I yell.

  Winters glances in my direction, and then her body bucks as the bullets strike her chest. She falls onto her back, arms splayed.

  “No!” I crawl toward them.

  The assassin mutters something. His hands brush across my legs, but I kick them away. He darts to the side and runs forward. His foot lashes out. The toe of his boot rams into my side. Air explodes from my lungs along with the sound of cracking bones. I tumble through the air as if punted, then hit the ground with a heavy thud. I push up onto my elbows, but my eyes cross and I collapse onto my stomach.

  The thick grass cushions the man’s heavy steps so I’m surprised when nails dig into my scalp. He pulls me upright until I dangle by my hair, with only the tips of my toes touching the ground. With my head pulled back at an unnatural angle, I stare into the man’s bloodless face. Madness fills the bloodshot whites of his eyes as his other hand closes around my throat and squeezes.

  A bang fills the air, and his hold on my throat releases. I drop to the ground, gasping for air as the man stumbles. My eyes shift in the direction of the gunshot. Anders has rolled onto his stomach. He has his elbows planted on the ground, supporting the weight of his gun as he fires. The bullets strike the ground inches from my body. Chunks of gravel fly up to cut my face, and I do an old-fashioned duck-and-cover.

  “Damn it, Dena. Get out of there!” Anders shouts, climbing to his knees.

  His gun remains pointed at my assailant. How the hell does he expect me to go anywhere? I’m injured, unarmed, and smack dab in the middle of a gunfight. But, really, anywhere else is better than here. I cover my face with my hands and throw myself sideways, rolling toward the curb.

  The man lunges for me, but slips on the blood pooling at his feet from his numerous gunshot wounds. He collapses to his knees, and I think for sure he’ll stay down, but he doesn’t. He gets on his feet and points his gun at my head. My God, it will never end. Why the hell won’t he fucking die? Die already!

  He pulls the trigger.

  CHAPTER 16

  Common Ground

  The trigger clicks. The chamber is empty, and I live to see another day.

  Anders fires again. The bullet blows a chunk out of the assassin’s hand, and the gun drops. The man screams with rage, but he doesn’t come after me again. This time he runs.

  Thank Jesus. Thank the Blessed Virgin. It’s over.

  And I’m finally going to listen to Reverend Prince and take my heathen ass back to church. If they let me back in after this.

  Anders runs a few steps after the man, then collapses. The look on his face appears so shocked that I almost feel sorry for him. Then I recall the man wouldn’t have been able to get to me if Anders hadn’t handcuffed me in the back of a patrol car like a fucking criminal.

  “Dena, are you hit?” he asks, crawling over and wrapping his arms around me. I press my body against his warmth. I’m so cold. My teeth chatter, and I’m trembling with shock.

  Anders runs his hands across my body, inspecting every inch of exposed skin. “Where’s the blood coming from? Is it all the other guy’s? Are you okay?”

  My injuries are healing, but my mind’s stuck on stupid. I can’t even form words. Nodding, I draw my knees into my chest and wrap my arms around them.

  “Okay. Stay here while I check on Eva and Kyle,” Anders says, pushing up from the ground, and I panic. I clutch his arms, afraid to let go. If he doesn’t hold me together, I’ll fly apart.

  He presses a kiss to my forehead, then rises without a backward glance.

  Sirens ring in the background. Now that the gunshots have stopped, neighbors flock from their homes. Dr. Eugene, the podiatrist from next door who’s sweet on Pepper, runs over to give first aid to Winters. My legs hold my weight so I go over to assist him. Despite being shot several times, the deputy was wearing a Kevlar vest. No vital organs appear damaged, but the vest didn’t cover her stomach.

  “Hang in there, Eva. You’ll be okay,” I say, pressing a gauze pad against her wound. She kept me calm after she found me in the alley. Now I return the favor.

  I thought Kyle was dead, but he’s as tough as he looks. He still has a faint heartbeat, and Anders gives him CPR until the paramedics arrive to attend to the injured officers. Anders waves them off when they want to check him for injuries, claiming he’s fine. Which doesn’t sit right. I saw him get shot.

  Then they check my injuries.

  Given my rapid healing factor, the fact that my ribs are still cracked and I have a mild concussion means my initial injuries had been pretty serious. The paramedic checking me out asks if I want to go the hospital. I gaze around the yard filled with sheriff deputies, crime scene technicians processing my house, nosy neighbors bringing out their lawn chairs to watch the show, and the body with chunks of his brain drying out on my front porch. Plus I recall the pesky fact that while Anders acted like he cared after the shootout, he could remember he planned on arresting me at any moment.

  Suddenly, a trip to the hospital seems like a vacation.

  * * *

  Susan sets me up with a bed in my own private corner of the emergency room. Not in the mood to be disturbed, I pull the drapes shut and think on what happened. How I’m able to move so fast. Became so strong that I can jump over a car. If I want answers, it’s time to agree to Estrada’s terms and give up the blood.

  Susan bustles around the drapes. She has a wobbly grin on her face as she inspects my wounds. “Don’t have time for a visit, but I wanted to give you an update. Deputy Winters’s in surgery. One of the bullets punctured her intestine which complicates the procedure, but her prognosis is positive. Deputy Kyle is breathing on his own and will make a full recovery. You, on the other hand, look like shit.”

  I snort laugh. “They said I managed to get through this with no major injuries.”

  “Lucky you, second concussion this week, and of course, Estrada isn’t answering his cell phone. He’s probably on a date and hopes to get lucky.”

  “He went out with Gabriella tonight. See if you can reach her cell.”

  “I’ll let you know if I hear from either of them.” Susan pours water into a glass from a pink plastic pitcher. “Does the sheriff’s office know who those men were?”

  “Not a clue. I’m barely on speaking terms with the detective in charge of my case.” I shrug and wince at the pinch
in my ribs.

  It’s difficult to feign detachment. Whenever I remember Anders’s accusing tone, filled with rage and horror, demanding to know how I’d burned a man, I want to cry.

  Speaking of burned, the drape slides open and Charles steps around the corner. A frown puckers his brow, and worry tightens the corners of his eyes. Upon seeing me, his expression relaxes, and he smiles. Warmth surges in my chest. Forgetting how much I hate him, I jump out of bed and throw myself in his arms. He hugs me tight against his chest, patting my back. “Shh, you’re okay. Everything’s okay.”

  I shake my head against his chest in denial. Everything most definitely is not okay. I am far from okay. Snot drips from my nose, and I’ve stained his shirt with my tears, but he lets me cry. Susan slips around the curtain, giving us the illusion of privacy. Charles shifts aside with my body still pressed against his, and pulls the drape closed. As it slides shut, my gaze meets Anders’s across the room. A flash of emotion narrows his eyes, vanishing so quickly I can’t be sure what he feels…relief, a touch of regret, longing. All of this flows through me as the shutters fall across his eyes. He turns away, leaving a lump of pain in my chest.

  My face burns. I step away from Charles and grab a couple of tissues from the box on a stand next to the bed. I pass some to Charles and use the rest to mop up my face. “Sorry. It would be a shame if Vanessa got the wrong idea about this.” I wave my hand between us. “It’s just…”

  “You need a friend.”

  I nod, biting my lip. “God Charles, I’m so glad you’re here. I couldn’t hold it together much longer. I’m sure the staff will be glad I won’t run screaming through the ER.”

  Charles chuckles. “Why don’t you get back in bed? I’ll be here as long as you need someone. Speaking of, where’s Gabriella? I didn’t hear anything about her being involved.”

  I clutch at my chest.

  Charles lurches forward at my reaction. “What the hell, Dee? Are you all right? Should I get Susan?”