The Curse of M

by Stevie Barry

  The truth. Just not all of it. The Lady got you out, didn't she? You don't have to say why.

  True. This was a secret she'd take to her grave. Even Ratiri couldn't know. Once the bruises had faded, there was no evidence she couldn’t pass off as simply the result of her and Von Ratched's fight. Nobody but her need ever know. It wasn't as though she had actual memories to work through.

  Either way, lingering in the wilderness a while sounded…nice. It was difficult out here, but uncomplicated. She'd have to enjoy it while it lasted.

  ----

  Most of the interview with the inmates was disappointing to Von Ratched. Five fragile, half-broken people who answered questions hesitantly, eliciting nauseating sympathy from the audience. There were few details to their pathetic stories he hadn't already known -- only things that happened during the raid were new, and even they weren't very interesting.

  Not until the end did anything really grip his attention, and it did so with a vengeance. It was DaVries, in a burgundy suit a shade too tight to be strictly professional. Her face was like a porcelain mask, but her eyes burned like blue fire.

  "We have hard evidence," she said, "that will be turned over to United Nations. Notebooks with Doctor von Ratched's experiments, the things he did to us. Things about the man himself as well, news I think many people will not want known. The doctor did not do this on his own. Those who helped him will also be held accountable.

  Von Ratched sat bolt upright, something close to real excitement seizing him. They wanted to expose the government that betrayed him, did they? That was a thing he desperately wanted to see. Hell, that was a thing in he would aid in.

  No, his death was out of the question, now. He would deal with Lorna, and then he would watch with relish.

  Of course, he still had to find her. It was maddening that he still had no means of actually tracking her. She could be anywhere in the Canadian wilds, and hunting her could take months. Oh, how he wished that magic worked as it did in books, that he could simply cast a spell to track her. Formidable though his telepathic range was, it only extended a little over a mile. He wouldn't find her until he was right on top of her.

  The wording of that thought made him wince a little. No matter. Come nightfall he would leave -- until then, he had better try to sleep. This might be the last time he'd see a real bed for a long while.

  That was easier said than done, though, especially when he was filled with such anticipation. He had to force himself to be calm, and then he had to take a near-suicidal dose of morphine. For this, he would deal with the nightmares.

  His hands were quite steady as he injected himself, and then he lay back and let his mind wander. He'd never thought he would enjoy anything again, but this could be the best diversion he'd ever known. It could force aside the thought of what he'd done, the one line he'd told himself he'd never cross. They would pay -- they would all pay.

  ----

  So this was public relations, was it? At least this bit was easier than Katje had expected. True, their first interview had gone well, but she'd been only herself, then. Now she represented an entire organization -- an organization that was going public very soon.

  She was to go before the United Nations next week, and that terrified her. The press were one thing, but the U.N…. It didn't help that Miranda was going with her, though at least Julifer was coming along as well, to babysit her. Privately, Katje wondered a little about Julifer's total devotion to her boss. It went above and beyond the strictly professional.

  It was going to take both her and Katje to mold Miranda into something a little more palatable to the outside world. The woman was even more blunt than Lorna, and she could be horribly profane if she wasn't careful. Her formidable presence might be an asset, but Katje still thought it would be safest to limit her actual speeches.

  Currently, both Julifer and Miranda were in Katje's apartment, parked on her couch with mugs of tea. Julifer looked strained, and Miranda was outright mutinous.

  "I'm not wearing a suit," she said flatly. "Other military officers wear their uniforms, don't they?"

  Katje, who was ready to tear her own hair out, sighed. "Going public looking like military is a bad idea," she said. "People are afraid of Gifted already. Julifer, what is the word I want? Not 'hostile', but something like it."

  "Confrontational?" Julifer offered.

  "That. We go in front of them like normal people, we call ourselves Gifted, not cursed or altered. You give me this job, Miranda, so you listen to me," Katje added, glaring.

  Miranda's lips twitched into a small smile. "That I did," she said. "But I'm still not wearing a bloody business suit."

  "How about black slacks and a black shirt?" Julifer suggested, trying to play peacemaker.

  "I suppose I could do that," Miranda said grudgingly.

  It wasn’t perfect, but it would have to do. "Fine. But I do your hair." Katje's glare intensified, daring her to argue. She got the feeling not many people were willing to butt heads with Miranda like this, but nobody had ever called Katje DaVries a pushover. She got what she wanted, no matter what.

  Miranda's smile widened, though her expression was wry. There was a measure of respect in her blue eyes. "I knew I gave you this job for a reason. Do your thing, if you really have to."

  Well, there was one hurdle out of the way. Geezer and Gerald were going with the little delegation, and they'd rounded up a translator, just in case Katje garbled her English out of nervousness. Ratiri refused to go anywhere until they'd found Lorna, and Katje couldn't find it in her to blame him. Keeping him away from this level of stress was probably a good idea anyway.

  "I do," she said firmly. "This will work. Have Gerald go over our evidence, though. He is doctor, and I do not trust my English yet."

  "You're getting better at it," Julifer assured her. "Fuck of a lot better than I'd do with Dutch, if our positions were reversed."

  Her words warmed Katje, though they brought up a whole other issue. "No swearing, you two. That would make us look terrible."

  "Gotta say, I already kinda hate the outside world," Miranda groused. For the first time, Katje wondered just how much time either woman had actually spent outside the DMA. Just how many of its people had been born and raised here? The longer she spent in this warren, the more she realized it was kind of its own small nation. One that had prejudices like any other.

  That was a headache best dealt with later. "No saying anything like that, either," she said. "We must show our best side."

  "Which apparently means looking like neutered house pets," Miranda grumbled.

  "Hush. We show more of ourselves once we convince world we don't want to kill them all. Neither of you were ever normal person. You do not know how they think."

  Julifer actually looked startled. "I never thought of that."

  "I did," Miranda said. "It's part of why Katje's got this job." She sighed, and pinched the bridge of her nose. "We've been isolated way too long. It's the downside of being so literally removed from the world. Dealing with our liaisons out there obviously hasn't been enough."

  "Yes, well, now you have people like me. You better start working on speech now."

  "Speeches," Julifer corrected.

  Katje growled. "I hate your language. Singular, plural, words that look the same but mean different things how you pronounce them, and eight hundred words that almost mean the same damn thing. I hate the word 'the'. Half your rules make no sense."

  Miranda grinned. "That's why you have tutors."

  Someone hammered on the door before Katje could come up with a retort. Her heart lurched when she rose to answer it, and she found herself faced with a red-faced young man, panting as he tried to catch his breath.

  "Von Ratched's been spotted," he gasped. "Just outside Anchorage. One of our scouts saw him leaving a motel."

  Miranda leapt to her feet, her eyes blazing with anticipation. Her expression was absolutely feral.

  "Was he alone?" Katje asked.


  "Yeah. If Lorna's still alive, she's not with him."

  "Of course she is alive," Katje said. "She is too stubborn to die." She wondered how Lorna would get along with Miranda. They'd either adore one another, or try to kill each other. Either way, it would be a meeting worth watching.

  Miranda bolted out of the apartment, Julifer hot on her heels. They had to know there would be no taking Von Ratched alive, but if they were very, very lucky, they just might be able to kill him. Provided, of course, that he didn't kill them first.

  ----

  Von Ratched's dreams had been very odd, even by his standards.

  Usually, when he took so much morphine, he didn't dream at all. This time, though, he would swear he saw visions.

  There was a lookout tower in a snowy forest, one likely used by fire-spotters in summer. Around it, scattered through the snow, were very small, uneven footprints, alongside dragging marks probably made by a walking-stick. There were also, disturbingly, huge paw-prints that had to have come from a wolf.

  Where was this place? Where? Such small feet had to belong to Lorna -- if he could find the tower, he could find her, for she couldn't possibly have gone far. Not if she was as heavily dependant on her stick as the tracks suggested.

  He needed a Forest Service map. There couldn't be that many lookout towers in western Canada, and he was more sure than ever that that was where Lorna was.

  He showered and dressed in a hurry, determined to get his hands on a map by any means necessary. He'd have to steal a car for now, one of the rigs parked out front, though he also need a mind to rifle through, to figure out how to drive the thing. Von Ratched had many gifts, but knowledge of how to drive an eighteen-wheeler was not among them. He'd get a map, he'd get his helicopter, and he'd hunt down his wayward victim.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Lorna was uneasy, and was growing increasingly pissed off about it. Bone-deep instinct was screaming at her that something was wrong -- very wrong.

  It made no sense. Even if she hadn't been capable of fending off any attacking wildlife, she had her wolf-guide with her. There was nothing in this forest more dangerous than her, so why the nervousness? Her heart was pounding, unwarranted adrenaline flooding her system, her stomach in a hard knot that was almost painful, and it made no sense. Even if someone was hunting her with infrared, there were so many animals in the woods that they'd have a hell of a time finding her -- and she'd hear a helicopter literally a mile away, if not further.

  Peace, she ordered herself. If something is on your tail, you can't afford to panic.

  Lorna paused, letting the tranquility of the forest surround her. The sun was slanting to evening, painting the snowy trees gold. Her leg and her shoulder ached abominably, but she was more than used to it by now. Her walk had kept her warm in spite of the steadily dropping temperature, and all around her was complete silence.

  And it would be dark soon. No sane hunter would pursue her through the woods at night, by air or on land -- although she wondered it would be safe to build a fire. Even under the cover of the trees, the smoke would be visible in the sky.

  Fuck it, she thought. She was tired of running -- let whatever chased her find her. She could always kill it when it did.

  "Shite's going to get real," she said to her wolf, who gave her a curious look. "When it comes down to it, you run, you hear me? I'll not get you killed on my account." If the creature truly was one of the Lady's pets, maybe it couldn’t die, but she didn't want to chance it.

  Anxiety twisted her gut as she set about gathering what dry firewood she could find, but it was joined by anticipation. Lorna had suspected for a while now that her power had grown, but she'd never had a real opportunity to test it. If Von Ratched was her hunter -- and she couldn't imagine who else it would be -- she'd have her chance for revenge. And oh, would she take it.

  She kindled her fire beneath a massive Douglas fir, the branches having kept the worst of the snow from its base. The flames danced red and orange, casting a flickering pattern of light and shadow over the huge roots. Her wolf, as always, sat a little removed, but close enough to enjoy the warmth. The heat tightened the skin of Lorna's face, aggravating her snow-reflected sunburn, but it was welcome.

  She busied herself fixing dinner, melting snow in a pot of powdered soup. It smelled much better than she knew it would taste, but anything was still a nice change from her steady diet of meat. If she killed Von Ratched, her wolf could gorge itself. Morbid though the thought was, she kind of wanted to watch.

  What in bloody fuck am I turning into? she thought. She'd always had a nasty temper, true, but she'd never been this vicious before the Institute. Sure, she'd wanted a few people to drop dead in the past, but she certainly never would have killed them herself. Even her father, God rot him, had been an accident. Now, though…she'd already killed two people on purpose, the chopper pilots who'd gone down with their helicopters during the first, failed escape. And Von Ratched she would happily kill with her bare hands. Yes, what was she becoming?

  You're a murderer, Lorna Donovan, and there's no getting around that. Those pilots went down by defense, but they're still dead by your hand. So to speak.

  Jesus, why was that thought picking now to trouble her so? It had lingered at the back of her mind since she'd done it, but only now did the guilt land on her like a brick.

  Von Ratched's different, she told herself, dragging the pot off the fire. If ever anyone on this planet deserved death, it's him.

  But do you have to be the one who gives it to him?

  The thought was not her own -- the mental voice sounded very much like the Lady. Lorna scowled, setting the pot in the snow to cool a little. She couldn’t think of anyone who had more right to it than her. And if she didn't, she'd be forever waiting for the other shoe to drop, wondering when he'd hunt her down again. She was a predator, goddammit -- she wasn't going to be prey for anyone, but especially not him.

  A distant but familiar sound filtered through the trees -- helicopter blades. Yes, that had to be Von Ratched. He'd spot her fire, he'd land on the road, and then he'd face her one last, fatal time.

  Lorna smiled, a smile she knew had to be deeply unpleasant.

  It would all be over soon.

  ----

  Though Von Ratched couldn’t read Lorna's mind, he could feel it, the one spark of humanity in this vast wilderness. There was no way she couldn't hear him coming, but she couldn't run, either.

  There was barely enough room for him to land the helicopter -- indeed, he took out a few branches on the way down. The landing was sloppier than he liked, but he was uncharacteristically impatient. He just wanted this over.

  The snow squeaked beneath his boots when he left the cabin, the air so cold it made his lungs burn. How had someone as small as Lorna survived in it this long? The woman didn't have an ounce of spare flesh, and her muscles would have been severely weakened by her long convalescence.

  She's likely survived on her stubbornness, he thought, stuffing his flashlight in his pocket. The full moon was so bright that he didn't need it, not yet. The smoke from Lorna's fire had risen through the trees not far from his landing site, though she may have abandoned it when she heard him approach.

  To Von Ratched's surprise, he was almost…nervous. The tightness in his chest was not only from the cold, his elevated pulse not merely anticipation. To kill her he'd have to face her, and only now did he realize how difficult that would be.

  The forest was eerily silent when he left the road, following her uneven tracks into the snow-laden trees. Not a breath of air disturbed them, and there were no night-creatures prowling about. He might as well have been the only person left on Earth.

  The light from Lorna's fire was easy to spot -- it still burned bright, so if she'd left, she hadn't done it long ago. When he drew near enough, though, he saw that she hadn't: she sat cross-legged before it, sheltered in the great roots of the tree. A wolf sat not far from her, its eyes glowing in the firelight.


  Lorna turned her face to him, and Von Ratched paused. He'd expected her to be broken, terrified, desperate to flee him -- God knew she had every right to, every reason to. Instead she sat very still, her eyes watching him like cold green stars. He'd come to think her pretty, in her own way, but out here, in this snowy cathedral of trees, she was beautiful. Something about her belonged out here -- she fit, in a way she'd never done at the Institute.

  Absurdly, for once in his life, he had no idea what to say. His intention to gently stop her heart seemed ridiculous, impossible. She wasn't just lovely -- even still and seated, there was an invisible but quite tangible aura of power around her, unlike anything Von Ratched had ever encountered. Whatever else he'd done to her, he certainly hadn't broken her. If anything, the steel she'd always carried within her had been tempered, had wrought her into a force the like of which he'd never seen.

  He was suddenly very, very worried. This would not, he thought, be as easy as he'd been expecting.

  "I should probably be impressed you found me, but you're such a stubborn bastard I'd not expect anything less," she said. Her voice was hoarse, her accent thicker -- she'd had no need to mute it in the last few weeks, he thought, no one who might misunderstand her. "Tell me, Doctor, what is it you expect to accomplish?"

  His original answer just wasn't going to work. He'd come to put her out of her misery, but she was definitely not miserable. Angry, yes, in a subtle way he'd never seen at the Institute, but there was none of the anguish he'd expected. Killing her now was going to be a lot harder to justify.

  And now, facing her, his resolve was wavering anyway. It would be best for him if Lorna died, but her eyes held him still. There were depths in them that made Von Ratched wonder what she'd seen, in the time since she'd escaped -- there was something about her that seemed almost inhuman.

  "I came to kill you," he said, for once unwilling to lie. His own voice was raspy from disuse, lacking its normal smoothness. Before he could stop himself, he added, "Though now I am unsure if I can."