by K.N. Lee
“What are you freaks?” he said, in a girlish sounding, high-pitched voice.
“That’s so manly. His voice gets you hot, Liv?” Egan said.
“You know it. I’m so wet,” Livia said, before snickering.
Egan flicked her hand.
He turned the gun toward his own face, staring at it with eyes so wide it looked like his eyeballs would pop out and roll free on the asphalt.
“Liv’s not the only one with talents,” Egan said. She tugged her wallet from her skin-tight jeans. Opening the snake-skin billfold, she held her shiny badge at the man’s eye level. “You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to speak to an attorney, and to have an attorney present during any questioning.”
Livia whipped out her cellphone from some hidden pocket in her too tight garment, and pressed a button.
In minutes, lights flashed and the police—the real police—the kind with guns and training—sped into the parking lot. Two uniformed men jumped from their car to retrieve the prisoner.
The two officers forced side-eye glances at them as they proceeded to handcuff the perp. With barely a nod, they ushered him into their police car and took off in the direction of the station.
“You’re welcome, Officer Dick,” Egan said as the vehicle disappeared.
“Happy to help, Officer Asshole,” Livia said.
They both stared in the direction the police vehicle had gone, their arms folded across their chests.
“Pricks,” Egan said. “They could at least thank us.”
“Or acknowledge us,” Livia said. “Honestly, I feel invisible when they’re around.”
“Right? We do their job for them, they get all the credit and they don’t have the decency to say ‘atta girl’ to us?” Egan shook her head.
“You look fantastic, by the way. Did I tell you that?” Livia said, eying Egan’s outfit. “Love the skinny jeans on you.”
“Thanks,” Egan said. “You look pretty hot yourself.”
“Why, thank you,” Livia said. She spun in a circle, her long, dark hair swirling around her. When she came to a stop, she said, “Love what you did with your hair.”
“Do you?” Egan patted her red-tipped, pale blonde hair. “Does it look like flames? That’s what I was going for.”
“Totally,” Livia exclaimed. “You look like your head is an inferno.”
She spread her fingers wide and made an explosive sound.
“So even if I don’t have my stupid dark fire skills mastered, I can look the part, right?” Egan said.
“Exactly,” Livia said, agreeably.
“I thought you were going to hook up with him for sure,” Egan said, fishing her car keys from her pocket. She punched the unlock button and the car doors blipped open. She grinned at Livia.
Livia scoffed. “Ew. Total douchebag.”
Egan’s right eyebrow arched. “Right. Like you haven’t hooked up with worse? And won’t do it again?” She shook her head. We’re both a couple of train wrecks. How we got jobs with the NYPD is anyone’s guess. Looking at Livia, she said, “Let’s go before you decide to find a man and fuck him. I’m not in the mood for rescuing you. I’ve been warding off vampires and other supernatural douchebags for the last hour. And then, let’s see to our next job.”
Livia
Back at the 12th Precinct, in Midtown, Livia twirled her long, dark hair around a finger, her eyes scanning the report she’d just written up for any errors. While their newest perp was being booked, she and Egan had piles of paperwork to tackle.
Inside the elegant, nineteenth century High Victorian Gothic Cottage, modern lighting made it easy to read the report in her hands. It was a welcome change from a couple of years ago, when she and Egan hunched over small desk lamps. The precinct building had been remodeled recently, upgrading the technology to current times. The facade now featured five stories of bullet proof glass. Still, the building retained the smells, creaks, aches, and pains of its time. Sometimes, Livia swore she caught the whiff of tobacco, or scent of bourbon emanating from the upstairs offices. Laws banning drink or smoke inside places of business had been in place for decades. She even bet her life she smelled hay and horses, who used to be housed in barns next door when equines were commonly used for transportation.
“I swear, Lt. Danvers must think what we do is easy,” Egan said, spinning in her chair behind her desk to face Livia. “He has to cut us some slack. I mean, we do all the work getting the criminals. Can’t we get some interns in here to do the paperwork for us? I could use an assistant.”
Livia smirked. “Sure, I’ll deliver your demands.”
Egan perked up. “Would you? Great! You go and talk to him.”
“What? I was joking.”
“Go on,” Egan said, nodding to the lieutenant’s closed office door across the room. “Give him a piece of our mind.”
Our mind?
“Why me?” Livia’s head jerked.
“Well, for one, he’s a hard ass and seems to favor you.”
“And, what else?”
Egan blinked. Her eyes narrowed briefly before a smile crossed her face. “I guess that’s it. Come on, Liv. Do it. For me.”
Sighing, Livia pushed away from the desk. The truth was, she’d do anything for Egan. She had saved her more times than she could count.
“You’re lucky I love you,” Livia mumbled.
Egan grinned. “Love you more! Now, run along and use your persuasion skills like a good girl.”
Livia gave Egan a little shove as she walked past her, heading down the aisle of empty desks. Most of the detectives got to go home at reasonable hours, but she and Egan weren’t most detectives. They were something entirely…different.
When she reached Lt. Danvers’ door, she knocked and glanced over her shoulder. Egan watched her from across the office.
Livia chuckled, shaking her head, and turned as the door opened.
Lt. Danvers took up the entire doorway. Six-foot-five, in his late thirties, he looked like a linebacker. His vivid green eyes spoke of youthful passion, yet the lines around them gave him an air of authority worthy of a man who had been doing the job for eons.
Livia flushed when he gazed down at her. She’d never get used to the look he gave her.
She bit her lip. “Can I talk to you?”
He nodded and stepped aside to let her in. “Come in.”
Once inside, he closed the door and leaned back against it. Reaching behind him, he flipped the lock, securing their privacy.
She inhaled sharply.
“What’s up?” His attention dropped to her chest.
She moved her hand to the top of her breasts, unsure whether she wanted to draw attention to them or shield them.
He swallowed.
Livia wrung her hands as she looked around his office. Framed certificates, attesting to his many accomplishments, lined the walls. Papers lay stacked in orderly piles on his shiny desk. He was impeccably neat, which was surprising for someone who had such a temper. She guessed hotheads could be tidy as well.
She glanced at the reports on his desk.
“Egan,” she said. “That’s what’s up.” She tipped her head to meet his gaze.
His face tightened, and he stepped away from the door. “What is it this time?”
“You know. We’d like for you to show us a little appreciation for all we do.”
He strode toward her until they were chest to chest. “Is that so?”
Livia swallowed, unnerved by how close he was to her. She forced herself to look up at him. “You know we do more for this department than anyone.”
When he pressed her against the front of his desk, she gasped.
Instead of replying, he lifted her onto the desk, disturbing a stack of papers, and kissed her on the lips. She surrendered to the kiss.
He pulled away and studied her. His eyes were nearly black with desire.
She couldn�
�t help the grin lighting up her face as he lifted her skirt up.
“I’m happy to show you some appreciation,” he said into her ear. He kissed her throat. “I don’t know if I can show Egan the same though.”
Livia giggled and wrapped her arms around his thick neck. “A simple thank you would go a long way with Egan.”
“Done,” he said, and inched her panties down her thighs.
She placed her hand on his solid chest. “We have to stop doing this here. Someone is going to catch on.”
“So, your place?”
She shook her head. “You know that’s not going to happen. I was thinking of yours.”
“Why?” He lifted his brow. “It’s been months and you’re still ashamed to bring me home?”
“First, you’re my boss and we have to be very careful. Second, do you really want Egan to know about us?”
His grin faded. “You’re right. My place then. When can you come over?”
“Tomorrow.”
“Fine, but I thought Egan was your best friend, practically your sister.”
“Trust me, Egan wouldn’t like it if she knew what was going on.”
“I’ll try not to take that too hard.”
“She’s just trying to protect me. She has since we were kids. She’s the only reason I’m even standing here in front of you.”
“Well, remind me to thank her,” he said, pulling her panties off and dropping them onto the floor.
Egan
That night, Egan drifted into horrifying memories as she dreamt of Dr. Beal Wreston, head of the Psi-3891 Children’s Hospital freak ward.
Looming over her twelve-year-old self, he clutched a long hypodermic needle in his nitrile-gloved hand. Dr. Wreston’s other hand pressed tight against her mouth, preventing her terror from bursting free.
“That’s a good girl.” Dr. Wreston peered through his wire-rimmed glasses, grinning his toothy smile.
The powerful lenses of his glasses made his blue-black eyes look like those of a pop-eyed goldfish. He smelled of medicine and something metallic, like copper or iron.
Egan tugged against the metal restraints binding her to her bed. Her breathing came so fast she thought she might hyperventilate. The concrete gray walls of her bedroom seemed to close in on her, suffocating her.
“Easy, child,” Dr. Wreston soothed. His gaze swung to the needle in his hand. “This will only take a second and then you’ll be calm.”
He jabbed the needle into her neck, a smile of satisfaction accompanying the stab. The tip of his tongue balanced against the corner of his mouth as he slowly pressed the plunger. Searing hot pain spread into her muscles.
She screamed into his hand. In a few short seconds, her screaming and writhing ceased. A drug induced calm flooded her bloodstream, and she fell into a listless dissociative state.
“That’s my girl,” Dr. Wreston said. He released his hand from her mouth and stroked her hair. “Now we get to have some fun. Won’t that be nice?”
He intoned the words like they were heading to the park or maybe the circus. He smiled benignly at her, his pock-marked face looking waxy, covered in a sheen of sweat. Cocking his head like a crow, his smile grew as her mind became more vacant.
“There we go,” he said. “I think you’re ready.”
She fought against the sedative. Come on. You’re stronger than this.
He unbuckled the restraints.
Find your power. It’s inside you. Use it. The drugs tugged at her, urging her to stay comatose.
He stroked her hair, like she was a kitten or a puppy. All the while he kept his same sick smile trained on her face. “That’s my girl,” he cooed. “That’s my sweet, sweet Egan.” He leaned close and whispered in her ear. “I’ve never seen such dark power as yours. Once you harness it, you’ll be invaluable to us.”
His breath stunk of fish and rice. It assaulted her nostrils, jolting her to stay conscious.
He chuckled and stood upright. “Let’s begin.”
No! I won’t let this happen. Egan’s leg shot out in a vicious kick, hitting him in the stomach. She bolted from the bed and raced clumsily from the room, into the sterile hallway. It took every ounce of concentration she had to resist the force of the drugs.
Dr. Wreston’s boots struck the floor. Each footfall sent chills shooting up her spine. If he caught her, she’d be punished. The only thing that mattered was resisting the experiments conducted on her daily.
Where’s Livia?
As if in answer, Livia’s screams sounded down the hallway. Egan sped along the halls toward the sound, fighting the narcotics thrumming through her bloodstream. She seized a wheeled cart outside of another patient’s room and whirled it at Dr. Wreston.
It slammed into his legs, sending dishes and silverware clattering to the floor.
“Stop!” Now Dr. Wreston’s footsteps clumped behind her in an uneven, limping gait, the sound echoing against the walls.
Egan’s adult-self writhed on the bed in her New York apartment, beneath her sweat-soaked sheets.
Come on, wake up. Get out of this dream.
The copious amount of alcohol she had consumed before bed, had its way with her and she crashed back into her dreams.
This time, she stood in a windowless laboratory, facing a much younger Livia. Chains, bolted to stainless steel girders affixed to the white walls, bound their wrists and ankles. Dressed in skimpy white gowns, they each eyed the other.
A series of silvery nodes had been attached with surgical adhesive along each of their arms, shoulders, backs, and foreheads. The nodes connected to wires feeding a display on a computer monitor.
Egan eyed the colorful swoops and swirls appearing and disappearing on the screen, wondering what they meant.
Dr. Wreston, dressed in a brown wool suit and blue tie, stood next to a comely nurse in a crisp white uniform.
They peered at the translucent clipboard in his hand, their faces bunched in thought.
Dr. Wreston tapped his pen against the clipboard. “Let’s try this experiment next with Egan. Let’s see how it affects Livia’s mental abilities. She’ll witness her friend doing things against her will. That should set off panic in her nervous system. Then, we’ll try this experiment…” He indicated another place on the paper clipped to the small, flat board. “I’d love to see good results from the effects of stress on Livia.”
The nurse’s head lifted and she regarded Egan with…sympathy? Compassion? Egan was never sure. The only thing she felt certain of was her loathing for being stuck at Psi-3891.
Her parents, unsure of how to deal with their firstborn child’s unusual abilities, had checked her into the Psi-3891 institution at age seven when she began burning holes in the walls with her fingers. Since then, they would pop into the institution at random intervals, their best “I’m a good parent, really, I am” faces on. They would smile at Egan, listen to the doctor, and then quickly depart.
Egan sighed. The only good thing about being here stood staring across the room at her.
Her eyebrows lifted as she looked at her friend.
You all right?
Livia shrugged. Then, she shook her head back and forth.
It’ll be okay, Egan thought, taking advantage of Dr. Wreston’s focus on whatever stupid thing he planned to do to her.
Livia nodded, her chin quivering. Then, she pressed her lips together and a fierce gaze replaced the fear.
“Good girl,” Egan mouthed.
Dr. Wreston shoved the clipboard in the nurse’s hands and turned to face Egan.
The nurse stepped toward the monitor and the large steel machine next to it. Setting the clipboard beside her, she reached out to touch an orange dial on the front of the machine.
Not the orange dial again.
Egan’s eyes widened as her limbs began to shake.
Now it was Livia’s turn to soothe.
“It’ll be okay,” she mouthed, same as Egan had done. “You can do this.”
�
�Nurse, please proceed,” Dr. Wreston said. He peered at Egan, as if she were a three-eyed hamster or a two-headed snake, then looked over his shoulder at the nurse. “Whenever you’re ready.”
Egan forced her mind to fill with pleasant memories of the time she and Livia spent together at lunch…in the game-room playing checkers…anywhere but here. Her eyes tracked the movement of the orange dial as the uniformed nurse slowly turned it to the right.
Electrical impulses pulsed through Egan’s skin. Her limbs itched as she squirmed.
Her eyes sought Livia.
Livia crossed her eyes and stuck her tongue out, trying to make Egan laugh.
She started to smile but then the electricity grew stronger, shooting through her veins. She yelped and tugged the chains binding her to the steel girders. The metal restraints bit into her wrists, and a ringlet of blood drops formed, like a tiny bracelet.
Livia made another silly face.
Egan, covered in sweat, let out a chuckle.
The nurse cranked the dial.
The doctor stared at her, like a Blue Heron about to stab a fish. “Here we go. This is good. We’re about there. Just…about…”
As the heat flashed through her bloodstream, Egan’s hands burst into flames. She gazed impassively at the blue-tipped orange flames covering her skin.
Dr. Wreston leaped back, blinking wildly. Then he clapped. “Oh, goodie!”
The nurse gazed at Egan again with that same sappy look she always gave her.
Egan’s head fell back as the pleasurable force of fire shooting from her palms filled her. She wondered if the sensation mimicked the pleasure she read about in romance novels she snuck from the adult section of the hospital. It flowed as an ecstatic, pleasurable tingle from the tips of her toes to the top of her head.
But then it—the ability the clinic called Umbra-Pyrokinesis, or dark fire manifestation—grew stronger. Power surged through her.
She wanted to destroy things. She longed to torch the doctor’s face before melting the machinery near the nurse. Then, she’d love to set fire to this whole place, even if it meant death to everyone, including herself. But she wouldn’t, couldn’t do anything to harm Livia.