by Anna Durand
Locked, of course.
At the end of the hall, she hesitated. To her right, a short corridor led into the kitchen. She saw, through the open doorway, a refrigerator and gas range. To her left, a stairway descended into darkness.
Texas houses rarely had basements. The hard ground made it difficult to dig out a subterranean room. Why would Amador have bothered? A wine cellar maybe. Or a place to hide things he wanted no one else to see.
Grace tiptoed to the stairs. A half dozen steps penetrated the shadows congregating at the base of stairway. There, half masked by the gloom, stood a windowless metal door. She gulped against the tightening in her throat. Her breaths came shallow and fast. Why should a door frighten her? It wasn't the door itself. Her psychic senses crackled with the cold awareness of danger.
You've got to see what's in there.
She sidled down one step. Held her breath. Listened. Sidled down another step.
Thump.
The noise originated on the other side of the door.
A shiver skittered down her spine. Her attention telescoped down, until her vision comprised one object — the door.
She halted at the base of the stairs. Tilting her head, she opened her mouth a little, focusing on sounds. The hiss of the AC. The beating of her heart. The distant rumble of an airliner passing by overhead. And something else. Something familiar, yet alien. Muffled by the door.
She inched closer, settling her ear against the chilled metal.
Whimpering. She heard an animal whimpering, inside the room beyond the door. The pitiful sound escalated in volume, crescendoing with a sharp cry.
Every hair on her body stiffened.
Not an animal whimpering. A human being.
One instinct urged her to flee. Another warned her she'd better uncover the truth before it lashed out of the shadows to sink its teeth into her neck. Whatever Amador concealed in the basement, it involved a human being in pain.
She wrapped her hand around the door knob and, with deliberate slowness, twisted. The knob refused to budge.
Behind the door, footfalls clapped on a hard floor.
Her heart thudded. She spun around and clambered up the steps. Her foot slipped. She flailed for a handhold. Her palms met slick painted walls, sliding down the surface. Her toe, balanced on the edge of step, flipped out from under her. An "ow!" burst from her lips as her chin smacked into the concrete step. Agony shot through her jaw. White lights exploded in her vision.
The door lock chunked. The knob swiveled. The latch clicked. And the door swung wide open.
Prone on the steps, she twisted to face her enemy. Pain sparked in her neck. Wincing, panting, she gaped at the figure looming over her.
Gabriel Amador frowned. "What do you think you are doing, Grace?"
"Um… " Questions fired up in her mind, but the dark tension rippling through Amador warned her not to ask what she really wanted to know. "You said I could look around the house. I tripped on the stairs."
"No." He shook his head, his expression regretful. "You heard the girl's pain. You likely sensed it too. I should've guessed you would." He knelt before her, laying a hand on her shoulder. "But I wish you weren't quite so curious, or so determined. I had hoped to keep this away from you."
Terror ripped through her like hot lava, searing her down to her core. Her voice constricted to a hoarse whisper. "Keep what away from me?"
He stepped aside, revealing the doorway and what lay beyond.
Inside the dark, windowless room, a single overhead bulb drove a wedge of brilliant white light down on a teenage girl huddled on a wooden chair. Ropes bound her ankles. Her hands were behind the chair, which suggested ropes secured her arms too. A red liquid dribbled down her face from her scalp, dripping onto her white tank top.
It was blood.
The girl lolled her head to the side and back. The light streaked across her face, where a purple bruise encompassed her swollen eye. The good eye, dark and bloodshot, fixed on Grace. A sob erupted from the girl.
Grace's gut clenched. My savior is a psychopath.
She couldn't move. Her thoughts twirled and bounced off each other, like pinballs in a machine. The world tilted and rocked. The acrid taste of bile infiltrated her mouth. She choked back her gorge.
Someone had to stop this man.
Why me? her inner voice whined.
"Please," the raven-haired girl implored, "please help me."
The pain radiating from the girl's tone stung Grace. She took a shaky breath.
Why me? Because nobody's riding to the rescue this time. She heaved herself off the stairs, onto her feet. Squaring her shoulders, she gritted her teeth. It's me or no one.
The terror ended right here, right now. Time to fight, with every ounce of courage and psychic power inside her. For the girl. For David. For everyone.
She whirled on Amador. "Let her go."
"I'm afraid I can't. If you'll allow me to explain — "
With a burst of psychic energy, Grace flung him backward into the wall. He hit with a thud and a crack. His body slid down the wall, his knees buckling. Slumped on the floor, he shook his head. "I'm sorry, Grace."
She bolted into the room, straight to the girl. Fingers trembling, she wrestled with the knots binding the girl's feet.
Amador shouted, "Wickham, push the button."
She hesitated in the middle of her struggle.
Inside the walls, a mechanism buzzed.
She spun around. From his position inches outside the threshold, Amador blocked the doorway with his body.
The buzzing echoed in the concrete room, hushed but menacing, like a horde of wasps holed up in the walls.
Grace balled up her power and slung it at Amador.
The energy ricocheted back to her, slugging her in the chest. She toppled over backward. Her skull whacked into the floor. Lightning bolts slashed in her vision. Roiling pain hauled her toward an ever-darkening abyss.
Amador towered over her. Sadness contorted his features. "I didn't want to do this, Grace, but you've left me no choice."
She clawed her way out of the abyss, back into consciousness. Her head throbbed, her entire body ached, and the room seemed poised on the head of a spinning top.
Crouching beside her, Amador jabbed a sharp object into her neck. His voice murmured into her ear. "I need you, Grace. I've come too far to turn back, and my plans will fail without your power. It pains me to say this, but I cannot let you go." He pressed his lips to her forehead. "Rest. I will explain all of this when you wake."
She tumbled down and down, into the abyss of unconsciousness.
David strained to open his eyes. His ears had stopped ringing, and the muffling effect of the gunshot had subsided. His body had grown strangely numb. A bad sign.
His eyelids parted no more than a sliver. He peeked out, through a bleary haze.
Tesler stood ramrod straight, hands balled into fists, shoulders hunched. Rage ignited redness in his face. The gun, smoking faintly, wobbled in his fist. He dropped his hand to his side.
David pried his eyelids further apart. Moving only his eyes, he surveyed the damage. No gunshot wound. Not on his body. He flinched. Not on his body.
He rolled his eyes to the side, catching a glimpse of Sean. The boy's lower lips quivered, but he appeared unharmed. David glanced in the other direction, toward Nkosi. A red stain had blossomed on his shoulder, soaking through his shirt.
Nkosi managed a tight, pained smile. "I will survive. Believe me, I've had far worse injuries than this." He glanced at Tesler, and his lip curled. "There will be retribution for this."
David tried to lift his head, but it felt as heavy as an iron bowling ball. His arms and legs seemed glued to the chair. His eyelids drooped, and he longed to let them drift closed, easing him into a deep slumber.
No, dammi
t, don't give in.
He breathed in and out slowly. A little of the fog cleared, though traces of it lurked around the edges, ready to swallow him.
Tesler stomped his foot. The concussion reverberated through the concrete room.
Nkosi flinched. Sean gasped.
"Wake up," Tesler said. "I'm through playing games with the lot of you. Someone will tell me how to find Grace or — " He trained the gun on Sean's head. " — I pull the trigger. You have until the count of ten." He curled his finger around the trigger. "One, two — "
David floundered for a plan. His notion of escaping had sounded good, but he'd failed to come up with a viable, concrete scheme to realize his goal. His psychic energy was drained. Worse, he was disconnected and fuzzy-headed, numb and sleepy. He recognized the danger of giving in to the exhaustion, but resisting got harder and harder every second.
Tesler counted down. "Four, five, six — "
Nkosi muttered words in another language. Maybe he was praying.
Sean had ceased trembling. He stared straight ahead without expression.
David drew in one more deep breath, and then he released the last thread of hope. "I'm sorry. I thought we could beat this, but we can't. Whatever happens, we must never give in to Tesler. Never."
Nkosi nodded. "Never."
Sean, his voice stronger than his demeanor, said, "Never."
Tesler swung the gun to his right and fired.
Nkosi slumped. Blood oozed from a wound on his chest, right over his heart. The life disappeared from his eyes.
The EM field constrained David to this room, so he couldn't access the crossroads. In spite of that, he'd managed to separate from his body when he tried to contact Grace — and rammed into the EM barrier. But still, he had used his powers in a small way. Any bit was better than nothing.
Targeting his gun on Sean, Tesler locked gazes with David. "One down, two to go. Whether you tell me what I want to know or not, I will hunt down your beloved. And when I find her… " He jerked the gun as if he'd fired a shot. "Pow. She will die. Her brain is all I need, after all."
I'll rip your heart out, you bastard. Anger and grief blasted through David, sharp and hot and electric, fueling his powers, re-energizing his body. Adrenaline heightened his normal senses and kick-started his thoughts. The boost wouldn't last, he knew. The fury amping up his energy, both physical and psychic, might grant him one last attempt.
Save Sean.
He pummeled Tesler with a telekinetic blast that flung him through the air backward. The scientist bounced off the wall, rolling across the floor. The gun skidded toward Sean's chair. The EM field zapped into David. Pain coruscated through his head, but he focused all his residual energy on one final task.
Sean's restraints popped off.
The boy's eyes bulged. He whipped his head toward David.
"Go," David said, his voice hushed and raspy.
The boy leaped up, snatching the gun from the floor.
Drained, in every way possible, David let his head fall back onto the chair.
The guard threw a wide-eyed glance at David, then Sean. He bolted out the door. His footsteps beat out a frantic rhythm as he fled down the corridor.
Crumpled on the floor, Tesler moaned.
Sean hesitated in the doorway. Gnawing his lip, he cast a questioning eye at David. "I can't leave you."
"Yes you can." Mustering his last reserve of strength, David infused his next words with the finality they demanded. "I'm a lost cause, Sean. Grace is the only one who can stop this nightmare. Find her. Run."
Sean ran.
Tesler pushed up onto all fours. Glasses askew, he puffed out an angry breath.
David relinquished his hold on… everything. As he sank ever deeper into nothingness, Tesler spewed a parting shot. "You are a pitiful failure. Your darling girl will suffer unspeakable pain for days, until the moment I finally terminate her miserable life."
Goodbye, Grace. Please forgive me.
Chapter Sixteen
Grace perched on the edge of the cot, her feet planted on the concrete floor of the basement room. Since waking up several minutes ago, she'd sat here immobile, her thoughts muddled by the sedative hangover. How long had she been unconscious? What had Amador done to her during that time?
Where was the dark-haired girl?
The wooden chair was gone. The girl too. Besides Grace and the cot, nothing else occupied the room. The overhead light sliced a circle out of the darkness. The white glow petered out before reaching her toes. Her cot, wedged into the corner of the room, creaked when she adjusted her position.
Her gaze was drawn to the center of the lighted circle. There, a dark stain had spread across the floor.
The heavy scent of blood permeated the room.
Had Amador killed the girl? Grace shuddered. She'd been a fool to come here alone, hunted by Tesler's goons. Amador could easily hand her over to the mad scientist.
Unless she agreed to whatever plans he had in mind for you.
His words replayed in her mind, searing her soul. I need you, he'd said, I've come too far to turn back, and my plans will fail without your power. Of course. Like every other nutjob out there, he coveted her psychic talents. His offer to aid her was a trick, to gain her trust. She should've seen this coming, should've steered clear of Amador. Instead, she let him guide her metaphysical endeavors, took his advice about her powers, and… believed him when he urged her to stop being afraid. His assistance had been a ruse, and she fell for it — out of a reckless compulsion to liberate her mind from the shackles of amnesia and post-traveling migraines. She was as obsessed with her own quest as David was with his.
She should've listened to him.
The door pivoted inward.
Amador traipsed straight to her, carrying a tray of food. He deposited the tray at her feet. Crouching before her, he laid a hand on her knee. "How do you feel?"
His expression revealed nothing. His hand warmed her skin through her jeans. He squeezed a little, his mouth crooking into a ghost of a smile.
She resisted the impulse to slug him.
"I'm fine," she said. "Where's the girl?"
"Gone."
Her stomach thrust up into her throat. She clutched the cot's edge.
Amador huffed out a breath, and his face scrunched with annoyance. "Not dead. She needed a break, so I transferred her to a room where she may sleep for a time. I have no desire to kill her."
She grunted.
He shook his head. "I am not your enemy, Grace."
Words tumbled out of her mouth, despite her efforts to contain them. "Great, you won't kill her. But torture is acceptable? And how about drugging me? That's okay too, right? I thought you were sincere about wanting to stop Tesler, but you're just as bad as he is."
His head drooped. He lunged both hands up to clasp them at the base of his neck. He puffed out sharp breaths and rocked on his toes.
She reached out to touch his shoulder, then yanked her hand away. Why the hell should she want to comfort him?
An ache started in her forehead, this time from annoyance and drugs, rather than power usage. She stuffed her hands under her thighs. "What have you done to me?"
He lifted his head a smidgen, enough to meet her gaze. "You were terribly upset. I sedated you for your own protection."
"Uh-huh." Arguing the validity of his claim seemed irrelevant at the moment. "I meant before that. Every time you… " She bit her lip. Saying too much afforded him an advantage, but right now, she must know the answer. Risk everything to save the world, right? "Every time you touch me, I get confused and I feel weirdly limp. I don't feel like myself, and it's freaking me out."
He studied her for so long she wondered if time had skidded to a halt. Finally, he planted his hands on her knees and said, "You are correct. I administered an experimental
serum designed to encourage compliance. I hoped it would relax you, and help you overcome your fears of your own powers."
"How did you give it to me? In the food?"
Grimacing, he turned one hand over. "The serum works best when absorbed through the skin." He dived his hand into his pocket and brought out a small glass vial. He held it between his thumb and forefinger. "I place a small amount of this on my fingers, then I… touch you."
He tipped the vial, and the pale yellow liquid sloshed inside it.
"If you had it on your skin," she said, "how come it didn't affect you?"
Replacing the vial in his pocket, he said, "I gave myself a counteracting agent. It does not last long, but I didn't need much time." He returned his hand to her knee. "I regret the serum was necessary."
"I said no drugs."
"After I'd given you the serum."
"You drugged me again after that."
He exhaled a long, exasperated sigh. "That was for your own good, Grace."
"Bullshit." She sprang off the cot, jumped to the side, and flattened her back against the wall. The door looked so far away. "What the hell do you want from me?"
"Cooperation."
She barked out a derisive laugh. "This is how you think you'll get my cooperation? You're insane."
"Please understand. My priority — my sole purpose in life — is to end the horrific reign of Karl Tesler." He inched closer, but when she gave him a warning look, he backed off. "I need you fighting at my side, at full strength, not hobbled by migraines."
"Cut the crap. You've been manipulating from the beginning, and I want to know why. What exactly do you expect me to do for you?"
"Fight. In ways I cannot."
She flexed her fingers against the cold wall. Her gaze flicked to the door, then back to him. A hard pit bounced around in her stomach, set off by a slithering suspicion she knew what he wanted from her. "No."
"Think about it." He strode toward her, grasping her shoulders in his big hands. "It is the only way to defeat Tesler. You are the one person in all the world capable of handling this task."