“Doesn’t prove anything,” she said, though he noticed she didn’t have much bite in her bark this time. “You were willing to kill Kasumi back there.”
And how wrong the girl was on that. Takeda had implicitly told him that at all costs Kasumi was to be unharmed. Which meant killing her was way out of the equation. The thing was, Dent didn’t know that. Even Kasumi had no clue. And he’d played it perfectly. He’d bluffed, Dent had folded.
Ingram had gotten lucky, he knew. If Dent had decided to call his bluff, Ingram would have been screwed. Ingram or Kasumi — one of them, or both — would definitely have wound up dead. In either case, Ingram would have lost. And knowing Takeda, the better option of the two would have been if he’d died. Who knows what the woman would do if Ingram killed her daughter?
It’s a wonder why Dent was so dead-set on protecting Kasumi. From what he knew about the man, Dent should have left Kasumi curbside long ago. What drove him to stick by her side? What could keep someone who was oblivious to emotional attachments so … attached?
Ingram desperately wanted to know. He’d lived a life with no emotional attachments, a life where people didn’t recognize him as even being there. To see such a bond in others, a bond that was always out of his reach, drove him insane. And yet, with Dent and Kasumi, that bond Ingram saw spurred something else besides anger, besides jealousy. Something he couldn’t put a name to. He wanted to know why and what and how. The last breath Dent took in this life would be in explanation. Ingram would bleed it out of the man if need be.
He sighed. Looked over at Theresa. And was practically giddy when she returned the look.
“Me and you,” he said, “we have much in common, believe it or not.”
“I doubt it.”
“Let me take a stab at it.”
She slowly folded her arms as if considering his words. He took that as an invitation to continue.
“You’ve known that something was different with you for as long as you can remember,” he stated.
She narrowed her eyes in silent agreement.
“And you realized that the people around you acted differently because of your talent. They treated you differently. And when the day came that you suddenly realized people were only being nice to you because of your talent, that you were forcing them to be nice to you, you probably snapped. People didn’t really like you, didn’t want to be nice to you. Everything they did was because they were forced to, compelled to be nice.”
She looked ahead, ready to talk, but not so ready as to talk to him directly. “I … I started to wonder if any of my friends were truly my friends.”
“Hard thing for a kid to come to terms with.”
He thought he saw her give her head a slight seesaw of movement. “A first, it was cool. I mean, people around me all happy and willing to help out others. But then, I began to question their intentions.”
“You doubted every smile, every gesture,” he surmised.
“Something like that.” She began twirling a piece of her hair between two fingers. “And then I noticed that when people started getting elevated by my forced emotion, they would do nice things for other people, not just me.”
Ingram nodded, though she wasn’t looking his way. “And that made you … less special.”
“That made me mad.” She sat up straighter. The hair twisting became hair pulling. “Why should other people be treated so nice when it’s because of me? What did they do deserve it, huh? I’m the one with this stupid thing,” she tapped her head, rather roughly, “why should other people get the benefits?”
How very intriguing, Ingram thought. Here he was, unable to get people to pay attention to him, and she was pissed off because people were overly nice to her, to others around her. This girl was definitely messed up in the head.
Then again, who was he to judge?
“I think, Theresa, me and you, we’ll get along just fine.”
“What’s with all this ‘me and you’ crap? I didn’t ask for a friend.”
“Exactly. And I’m not pretending to be one.”
That perked her ears. Now she looked at him. Really studied him. “You’re not affected by me?” Was that hope or carefully hidden doubt in her voice?
He shook his head. “Nope. Not one bit.”
She looked like she was going to ask him something else but her features clouded over.
“What?” he prompted her.
“You still threatened to hurt people to get me. You killed those men back there.”
He figured he’d borrow a line from Dent. “And I did it to keep you safe.”
“Yeah, right.”
“Think about it, Tee. Can I call you Tee?”
“No.”
“Okay. Think about it, Theresa. We both know that I just saved you from Chisholme. I’m betting your stay with him was anything but pleasant, yeah?”
She reluctantly nodded.
“And what about Saint Nicholas? Now, after everything is out in the open, do you think you could go back to living there? Would Father Lance want you back after learning what you did? What you are? What you have done?”
He knew he had her, he could see her chew her lip in thought. But she came back at him with, “Either way, you’re kidnapping me. Trading one prison for another.”
She was almost there ….
“Who says you’ll be a prisoner?” he said lightly.
“You kidnapped me,” she repeated.
“Think of it as whisking you away.”
“Think of it anyway you want. I won’t make it easy for you. Or for whoever tries locking me away.”
“You aren’t seeing the big picture, Theresa. You won’t be locked up. You’ll be in a place where people will like you for what you can do, not because of what you can do. The people I know, the person I work for, they accept you for what you are. And if that’s not what friends do, then I don’t know what friends are.”
God, he almost laughed at that last part! He looked out the window, pretended to be lost in thought, in order to hide the grin on his face.
“I’ll hate your people as much as I hated the people at Saint Nicholas,” she said, but he knew it to be false bravado.
The girl was thinking about what it would be like to be accepted the way she was.
He smiled.
Five minutes later, she stirred. The leather seat squelched as she brought up a foot and tucked it under her. Body angled in his direction, she asked, “Are there others like me? People my age?”
He gave her what he hoped was the most encouraging smile he’d ever manufactured.
“And I can be … I won’t be locked up? No more tests?”
“Of course not. Like I said, me and you.”
She stared out the window and the hair twisting began again. She wasn’t as scared as she was before. Thoughts of a better life can do that to a person.
Now he grinned. He had her. She wouldn’t put up a fight, maybe even have a few friendly conversations with him before their time together was up.
He almost felt bad for having to ship her off to Takeda.
And then there was the whole lying through his teeth to her, but hey, what are friends for?
XXXVIII
Kasumi put the plate down on the coffee table and gave Dent a small bow.
“Your order, sir. Bologna sandwich with extra cheese, extra mayo, and potato chips. And to drink, the finest glass of ice water Herristown has to offer.”
Dent leaned forward on the couch and she saw pain ripple through his features. Then, surprisingly, a small smile split his lips, and he said, “I could get used to this.”
She smiled back at him. “Yeah, well don’t.”
She was still angry with him for sacrificing Theresa to save her, but he was in too terrible a condition for her to take it out on him. But once he was feeling better, he and she were going to have a serious talk. She just hoped he’d be getting better soon.
He needed a doctor, no matter what he said. He swea
ted a lot, his color was bordering on yellow-grey, and he had been quiet. Well, quiet even for him. It was only one day after they escaped from Miss Wilkens’s house and she knew she couldn’t expect a miracle, but she didn’t like seeing Dent in so much pain.
When they left Miss Wilkens’s house, they went to the only safe place either one of them could think of. Father Lance’s house. It wasn’t too hard to find — his address was listed online on the Saint Nicholas homepage — and neither knew if he made it out of Saint Nicholas safely. So, for the time being, this was their hiding spot.
When they had gotten there, Dent broke in through a sliding glass door in the back, and after they raided his bathroom for first aid supplies and he took care of his immediate wounds, Dent had passed out on the couch. After turning on the television, Kasumi soon fell asleep next to him.
Waking up with the sun, she had hoped Dent would look better after a good night’s rest, but he hadn’t. That was when she had decided she would keep her opinions regarding Theresa quiet. There would be a time and a place for that discussion. For now, her job was to make sure Dent got better.
Dent surveyed his late lunch, or maybe it would be considered and early dinner, and picked up the plate. He munched on a few potato chips and took a small bite from his sandwich.
“Good,” he said.
Coming from Dent, that was high praise.
“There were some steaks in the fridge next to the bologna, but I have no idea how to barbeque or cook them on the stove, so you’re stuck with that.”
“It’s good,” he repeated.
“You’re welcome.” She settled down onto the couch next to him.
She turned the television on and, as Dent slowly ate, flipped through the channels, not really seeing what was on. She just wanted something to occupy her mind, keep her from thinking about everything that had happened, was happening.
If only they had never come here. Dent wouldn’t be hurt so badly, Theresa wouldn’t be with Noman, and most of all, she wouldn’t be thinking about Jason. Even now, thoughts of him stirred her emotions, from anger for him being a hero and leaving her alone to butterflies in the pit of her stomach at the remembrance of his kiss on her cheek. Now that she understood what Theresa’s talent was, Kasumi knew that whatever feelings Jason had for her were real. Theresa could make Jason want to do nice things, but she couldn’t make him like someone.
And Kasumi knew he liked her as much as she liked him. But now, what would happen? She and Dent would have to run away again, leaving Jason behind. Maybe it was for the best. She was dangerous. Too many people wanted her, would hurt and kill to get her back. Dent wanted to protect her, would hurt and kill to keep her safe.
She wasn’t exactly girlfriend material, was she?
“What was that?” Dent asked suddenly. In a heartbeat his plate was on the table and he had his gun in hand. The other gun, which he found in the car after leaving Miss Wilkens’s house, was underneath the cushion she was sitting on.
“I didn’t hear anything.”
Then she did. A car engine was pulling away from the front of the house.
He grabbed the gun under her, shot up off the couch, gave a pained grunt, and, now both guns in hand, told her, “Get upstairs. If they come in, it’ll be from the front. I want you out of harm’s way this ti—”
The doorbell cut him off.
Heart threatening to jump out of her chest, she looked from door to Dent. “Bad guys don’t ring the doorbell do they?”
Dent stepped past her, used the barrel of one of his guns to move a window curtain aside, and turned back to her. No gangs of gunmen outside, she took it.
Another doorbell chime and a knock.
She started for the door.
“Fifth, wait,” Dent whispered.
She didn’t stop, though she did slow. She looked back to him. “Bad guys aren’t vampires, Dent.”
He tilted his head to the side in confusion.
“Vampires have to be invited inside the house,” she explained. “Everyone knows that.”
“It’s not a vampire at the door. Besides, isn’t ringing the doorbell another way of asking for an invitation to come inside?”
She hated his logic. “Well, vampires aren’t real, so we’re fine.”
He opened his mouth to reply, but quickly decided against it. He mouthed “wait” and crossed the front door, where he would be hidden when it opened. From there, he could put a bullet into whoever was outside. Bad guy and vampire alike.
But when she peeked through the peephole it was none of the above.
She waved Dent back, opened the door, and greeted Father Lance.
“Figured it would be you,” he said grumpily. “Hoped it wasn’t.”
He pushed her aside with his crutch and hobbled past her into his house. Before he was three steps in, he stopped. A gun to the back of your head will make you do that.
Kasumi closed the door, locked it, and when she turned back, Father Lance gave a huge sigh.
“And of course, you’d be here, Dent. If you’re going to shoot, shoot. If not, I’m grabbing a drink.”
And with that, Father Lance hobbled straight for the kitchen, leaving Dent to stare at Kasumi. She shrugged, reached up, and put a hand on Dent’s arm to make him stop following Father Lance with the gun.
Cupboards opened and closed, glass clinked, and Father Lance crutch-walked past them, bottle and glass in hand, to plop down on the couch. Still unsure of what to do, Kasumi and Dent walked back into the living room, where Father Lance poured himself a drink and snagged a few potato chips off of Dent’s plate.
Father Lance looked at them over the rim of his glass. “Is that my shirt?” he asked Dent.
“I needed a shirt.”
“So not only did you break in to my house, but you raided my closet and pantry while you were at it? Did you eat the porridge too, or did you find it too hot or too cold?”
Dent opened his mouth, but Kasumi cut him off. “Glad to hear you can joke about things, Father,” she said, trying to force some levity into her tone.
He waved her comment away, at the same time waving them to sit. She did, on the far side of the couch, and Dent sat in a side chair he dragged over next to her. Nobody said anything for a minute. Father Lance drank and nibbled on chips, Dent fingered his guns on his lap. Finally, Kasumi broke the silence.
“Why did you ring the doorbell to your own house?”
“There’s a car in the driveway. Figured somebody was here.”
“But why—”
“Jason has my house keys. They were on my keychain when I gave him my car keys. Should have thought that one through, but, eh.” He shrugged and filled his glass again.
The mention of Jason snapped her to attention. “Have you heard from him?”
His eyes widened slightly and he sat up a bit straighter. “Sorry, but no.” Her anxious mood didn’t do much to enliven his words. “But, I did hear he managed to evade the police for quite some time. They finally corralled him into a roadblock and brought him in. The only reason I know is because they informed me that my car was being impounded until this is all sorted out.”
“Will he be in trouble?”
“I’ll vouch for him whenever he’s let out of holding. Men with guns broke into his house, so I don’t see how the police can blame him for running.”
“And his mother?” Dent asked.
Father Lance didn’t answer right away. He did take another drink, though. “No word on her. Odd, though. I don’t know why. Maybe she’ll show up when the dust settles. Her house was a terrible crime scene, after all. Speaking of which, why are you here? Better yet, why shouldn’t I call the police?”
Dent said, “That would make two crimes scenes, if you did.”
“Count Saint Nicholas, and it would be three,” Father Lance was quick to reply. “And correct me if I’m wrong, but did you just threaten me? Again?”
“He didn’t mean it that way,” Kasumi interjected. “Right, Dent?
”
Dent shrugged.
“See?” she said optimistically.
Father Lance took another sip.
“What are you going to do now?” she asked.
“Saint Nicholas will be shut down, the orphanage will be shut down. It’ll all be shut down.”
“What about all the people in town?”
“They can do whatever they want.”
Dent asked, “So you’re giving up?”
The man took another drink in answer.
“You can’t,” she told him.
“Why? My work there was … tainted.”
“So?”
Father Lance shook his head.
Kasumi leaned in closer. “You can’t give up like that.”
“It was all fake,” he said, more to himself than to her. “Thought I was doing God’s work, turns out I was working for a man playing at being God.”
“But I think now more than ever people will need you,” she pleaded. “They need someone to get them through this, Father.”
Father Lance stood. Kasumi wondered if he wobbled so much because of the alcohol or the crutch. He looked at her and Dent, a frown on his face. Kasumi wished she could force him to feel better, but his mood had put a damper on her own spirits. How much of his depression was his, and how much was it her forcing it onto him?
She wanted to do something to make him happy, and the way he stood there, it looked like he was hoping for some divine intervention to help him through this. But she had nothing to say. She tried focusing on pleasant thoughts, tried forcing out happiness or hope, but she was too far gone to pull it off. Right now, the negative thoughts in her head outweighed the positive.
Seeing no outside help, divine or otherwise, Father Lance sighed and maneuvered himself away from the couch, putting his back to Kasumi and Dent.
“You won’t help them?” she asked loudly, maybe a little harshly.
The back of his head shook. “I’ve failed them. Every one of them that went to Saint Nicholas and looked for spiritual guidance had been manipulated. I don’t have the heart to stand before them. I had my chance.”
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