by KC Klein
It was shameless to fish for a compliment, but it wasn’t as if I had far to fall, considering I was lying naked with a man I barely knew.
His smile faded and a look of seriousness sobered his eyes. “I’d tell you for the rest of your life if you’d let me. In fact, plan on it.”
I sucked in my breath at his words. A thrill shot through me. See dad, I wanted to shout, you are not always right. ConRad seemed to be waiting for an answer. I searched my muddled brain for some smart, witty response, but couldn’t find one. Instead, I settled for a stupid grin and a dumbfounded nod.
Embarrassed, I broke eye contact. I wasn’t ready for this conversation, too many implications. Feeling the need for coverage, I pulled the blanket up under my arms. I rested my head on his chest and concentrated on taming the unruly butterflies in my stomach. I ran my fingers over his chest and traced the S-shaped scar on his right peck. The mark was ugly, the skin still puckered and red from the burn. Needing to change the subject, I asked, “What happened?”
He stiffened beneath me. Long moments passed and I thought he wouldn’t answer. If I was more trusting and confident, I’d tell him to never mind, but I wasn’t. Our previous conversation exposed too much of my vulnerability, and I grasped at the opportunity to have a little balancing of the scales. I knew nothing about his past, nothing about who he was. We had to start somewhere.
“It happened a long time ago.” His voice muted as the caressing stroking of my hair stopped. “When I was a kid, I wwasad, I wanas given up by my family. Since I was male, they really had no use for me. I couldn’t create an alliance through marriage or be sold for money, so I was taken to the military for training. As with most of the young men at the age of twelve, I was slotted for the corps nicknamed the Killing Fields. We were merely speed bumps to slow the aliens’ progression down. There was no chance at survival.”
His fingers massaged my temple as he paused, trying to find the right words. “There was a custom. Not a good one. The last night before our big battle we were given a no-holds-barred chance at freedom and a small bottle of whiskey. I guess the leaders’ thought they could turn us into men overnight so they wouldn’t have a guilty conscience of sending children to their deaths.
“Regardless, among us boys the custom was called Hell Night. Older boys hunted in packs for the smaller, younger ones. It wasn’t until much later I figured out why. I guess I was considered pretty, and was definitely young enough. I spent most of that night hiding and running.”
At his words I stilled. I could only imagine in a world full of men behaving badly, what teenagers, desperate and knowing they were going to die, would do to a younger, more helpless boy.
“I found my way into the sleeping quarters of a high-ranking Elder. At that time I thought he was my savior. He protected me through Hell Night and took me in as his page, preventing me from going to the Killing Fields. Everything started innocently enough: cooking, keeping his quarters clean, and in turn he taught me about political intrigue and espionage. Then things turned personal.” His voice was controlled and neutral as if he was relaying what he ate for lunch the day before. “I’ll spare you the details of the seduction.”
My breath shallowed, and my insides tightened. I was afraid any sudden move would close him down, cut any tentative bond between us.
In a monotone, he continued. “I tried to escape numerous times and ended up being shackled to a metal post in his room. Those months are dark, huge gaps in my memory. But I do recall him believing himself in love with me, and it infuriated him that I wasn’t willing. He called the sessions ‘Breaking the Boy.’ After one such session I got sick, delusional with a high fever. He must’ve realized he’d gone too far because I was anonymously dropped off at the infirmary. After I got well, I made my escape, but in that last session he had already branded me with his mark. And that’s why I carry the first letter of his name, Syon, on my chest.
“It wasn’t inconsequential that when choosing my last name—Smith—I chose one that began with S. I refused to let his mark shame me forever.”
Silence hung heavy between us. He’d just bared his soul to me and it scared me to death. I was used to living my life on a superficion Proal level. This went way beyond. “I don’t . . . I mean . . . I’m . . .”
“Shh. I told you because you asked and because you need to know I have a dark side. You need to know how dark I can get.”
I scooted off him and busied myself with a frayed hem of the sheet. This was going in a direction I had no hope of being able to control.
“This is supposed to be where you say that you’re not afraid of the dark.” There was humor in his voice, but underneath was something else altogether.
“You make me nervous,” I said. Coward! I shouted at myself, as I wished fervently to backpedal the conversation to safer ground.
“I make a lot of people nervous, sweetheart.” There was a sly smile in his voice, but I refused to glance up to confirm.
His utter stillness had me fidgeting even more. But he deserved more from me. He deserved the truth. “ConRad, I don’t think . . . what I mean is, this is going too—”
A sudden loud pounding on the door had us both jumping four feet, straight into the air.
“Commander sir. Urgent, sir,” a solider said from behind the door.
ConRad was up and dressed before I was even out of bed. Apparently seeing no need to wait for me to get my clothes on, ConRad cracked the door and peered out.
“The Elders are here and looking for you. The word is that they aren’t happy.”
ConRad gave a nod and began to close the door.
“Sir?”
ConRad looked back to the solider.
“They’re looking for the woman.”
ConRad went dead still for a mere heartbeat, but it was enough to send my mind racing. He closed the door and shifted his gaze toward me.
“Get dressed,” he stated coolly, then sat down and pulled on his boots.
“What’s going on?”
“The Elders are here,” he said simply.
“The Elders?” I squeaked. I hadn’t really believed they’d come.
“They’re here to investigate the death of the goddess. I thought I would have more time, but their spy network must run deeper than I thought.”
“Do they know about me?” Sweat prickled underneath my clasped arms.
“If they don’t, they will soon. An unattached female, who appeared out of nowhere, is hard to keep secret.”
I hadn’t moved, still naked and wrapped in a blanket. My heart rate was picking up fast and the familiar taste of metal coated my tongue.
“Listen—” he took my face in his hands and drilled his gaze into mine, “the Elders control all of civilization . . . and everything in between.”
“Does that include you?” I whispered, my throat suddenly dry.
“Oh yeah . . . especially me. Do us both a favor, stay low, out of sight.” He let me go and walked to the door. “Get dressed and go and find Aura. She’ll hide you if she can. I’ll meet you at what’s left of the command center after I get rid of them.”
It wasn’t his words that sent ice mainlining into my body, but the desperate look he gave me before he left.
ConRad was scared.
Chapter Twenty
The Elders were here.
My hands shook as I pulled on my clothes. The boots took the longest, since I="1em had to stop twice to dry my palms as I laced the millionth hole. I paused before opening the door, remembering the look in ConRad’s eyes. He’ll protect me. He promised.
I threw the door open and fast-walked down the hall. I was torn between not drawing attention to myself and doing a full run to get the hell out of here. Find Aura, my white butt; I was in full-out hide mode. The small crawl space down past the three pools seemed a perfect place.
I turned the corner toward the tunnel leading to the infirmary, and stumbled to a stop. ConRad stood underneath one of the numerous metal support beam
s, his back toward me, blocked by the four men surrounding him. Three of the four were young, maybe in their mid-twenties. They were dressed in identical crude black robes, with V-necks that were low enough to reveal their hairy chests. Their muscled arms bulged from gripping the heavy machine guns, and just in case that wasn’t intimidating enough, long glittering swords were strapped to their backs.
The fourth man was different. He stood in the center, the position of authority. He had neither bulging muscles nor a sword. Instead, his thin graying hair snaked past shoulders rounded with age. His pale face was a maze of lines and broken blood vessels. Like holes cut in a wrinkled sheet, his shifty eyes peered out black against the pasty skin, and missed nothing. His onyx gaze caught mine, and his reddened lips thinned into a straight line. His face didn’t move, didn’t betray one emotion, but his eyes flashed. It a blink it was gone, but not before I read what was in them—jealousy, pure and hot.
All motion slowed, yet everything happened in a span of seconds. ConRad’s body stiffened. His spine went ramrod straight as if the iron in his blood solidified. A roar in my head drowned out all sound, but I swear I could hear the inhalation of ConRad’s breath.
“Is that her?” I saw the old man’s lips move, but the voice sounded a long way off. ConRad turned, his movements rigid and stiff. He looked straight at me with eyes as barren as the landscape outside the mountain. “Yes . . . that’s her.”
Pain shot through my chest and bloomed. I looked down expecting to see a gaping wound, but betrayal only leaves its cuts on the inside. Black shadows pulsed along the borders of my vision. Then everything inside quieted. My vision focused crystal clear and one loud red message shot off inside my brain. Run!
My legs weighed a hundred pounds each. My feet slipped as I backpedaled and dug in for traction. A swoosh sounded as the swords were pulled from their sheaths, drawing an invisible arc in the air. Reflecting red in the light, the slick metal gleamed high above the heads of their masters. Then their sharp tips lowered and aimed directly at me.
I turned. Fell on my knees, slipped and fell again. I dug my fingernails in, losing a few to the dusty ground below. I crawled back up, gritted my teeth, and forced my legs to move. One step, two steps, three . . . a fist caught my hair from behind. My head snapped back as my body rushed forward. I bit my tongue; my mouth filled with the sweet metallic taste of blood. Hauled back up, I was slammed against the wall.
The men tied my wrists behind my back and rough hands patted me down. Words slipped through my foggy brain. “Direct disobedience and violation of the use of microbiotics.” “Improper use of health care protocol.” And one phrase that really stood out: “punishable by death.”
I craned my neck trying to catch a glimpse of ConRad. I knew if I could just see him, if I could look him in the eye, he would help me. He’d sworn to protect me. He’d told me he wanted to spend the rest of his life with me. He loved me. He hadn’t spoken the exact words, but after baring his soul like that, I knew he did.
“ConRad,” I screamed. I caught sight of him. He was stiff. Even from this distance I could see the flex of his jaw. His face was pale as beads of sweat glistened against the smoothness of his brow. Gone were the eyes of burning blue that an hour ago had both heated me and had me whimpering in the same breath. In their place were eyes made up of nothing more than ice and snow.
“ConRad, please help me,” I pleaded, my voice barely a whisper. One robed man attached himself to each arm. As they dragged me down the hall, my legs buckled and my boots dug deep trails in the dusty ground.
I struggled in my captors’ grip to look behind me, and at that moment something inside me died, as ConRad slowly turned and walked away.
I woke in a dark room strapped to a metal chair. My hands were tied behind my back, my fingers numb. The few memories I had were colored with a daze of shock and pain. After being given up by ConRad, the men in black robes had dragged me through the prominent double red doors in the command center. The doors swung open to a huge swirling vortex of lights. Bigger than the side of a house, its circular shape sucked at me, pulling at my clothes and hair like a greedy lover.
The portal to Earth increased its pull the closer we came to the energy field. My hair whipped at my face as I fought against the force. The men on either side of me tightened their grip and strained their bodies. They ducked their heads and sucked in a huge breath of air. We stepped through the vortex. My chest burned, as I tried to claw at the metal band that seemed to be clamped around my lungs.
I must’ve passed out, coming to only when the scream in my head rose to the audible level of a shrilling siren, and broke through my unconsciou myn Pro" colsness. My tongue stuck to my palate like a dried piece of leather, two times bigger than normal. Molten heat shot down my shoulder to my wrist, making me groan out loud.
“She’s coming around,” a voice said from somewhere in the thick blackness. Instinctively, I knew it would be better for me to slip back into the quiet sea of nothing. I let myself go, half hoping never to surface again.
Cold shocked my system as ice water slapped my face. I sputtered. Adrenaline flooded my blood; fight or flight sharpened my senses. Above me a mess of copper wires washed my vision in crimson, shining down on me, keeping the rest of the room’s occupants in shadows. The small circle of light didn’t allow me to see much—a dirty concrete floor, my boots bound with thick rope, red splotches showing bright against the camouflage of my pants. I found myself in the classical interrogation scene from every spy movie I’d ever watched. Hero beaten and tied to the chair, 100-watt bulb swinging overhead, dark mysterious voices in the background. The muffled rustle of cloth on cloth and heavy breathing sounded loud in the darkened room. Knowing I wasn’t alone didn’t comfort me.
I was scared out of my f-ing mind.
“That was a surprising show of defiance you put on earlier. I hope you aren’t thinking of pulling anything like that again,” said the Voice. Its owner was male, his voice husky and sickly sweet at the same time.
If this were Hollywood (which is based in reality I’m sure), this would be the part where the hero/heroine pulls out a hidden nail file, cuts the ropes, and does an impossible Kung-Fu move that simultaneously frees herself and kicks butt. Me, on the other hand, I couldn’t swallow my own spit. No worries here, Voice, no show of defiance, at least not from me.
He seemed content to take my silence as a response. “I guess we’ll have to convince you to talk. But don’t worry, we’re good at that.”
I shook my head, but blazing white pain shot to the base of my skull, ceasing all movement.
“Ahh . . . defiant to the end. Excellent.” Without hesitation he raised his fist and swung. Bam! Right across the face. Pain exploded in my orbital bone, my head snapped back and to the right. Warm fluid filled my mouth and I waged a war with my stomach to keep from vomiting. The battle was quickly lost with another solid hit to my abdomen. Vomit spewed projectile style over the robed figure, onto the floor, and my boots. Objectively, I realized my nose had been broken since blood trickled down my face, soaked my shirt front, and began pooling between my legs on the chair.
No! I wanted to shout. Not defiant. But the piece of leather that was masquerading as my tongueg aain s wasn’t cooperating. Then it was too late. I heard a door close and he was gone.
I hoped, at a later time, I’d be able to tell him I was a cooperative prisoner. I’d be willing to say anything he wanted. Hell, I’d gladly sell the soul of my own mother, because no matter what my strong suits were, courage was not one of them.
But what I didn’t know is that when later came, all my confessions wouldn’t matter anyway.
Chapter Twenty-one
Braided hemp cut into the flesh of my already chafed skin. Blood oozed out between the rope and my skin. I watched a small red stream trickle down my upraised arm, find its way past my ribs and finally fall off my big toe, contributing to the growing pool beneath me. Stripped naked, hung from an iron hook by bound wrists
, I’d been left to “cool my heels.” They were cool alright, my heels and every other part of my body. I had long since ceased the protective response of gooseflesh, and now was blessedly numb.
Can’t breathe. I couldn’t fully inhale hanging like I was. Can’t think. I had no more fight left. I’d lost. The dark shadows were mocking and dancing on the sidelines whispering cruel whispers. You’re gonna die die die. They’re gonna kill kill kill you.
For the hundredth time I glanced around the room. Concrete walls, a window barred with wooded shutters, the zigzag of copper wires overhead, a small bowl of heating coals, and me. Numerous iron hooks were bolted into a wooden beam across the ceiling. Brown-stained concrete beneath each hook stood as a witness to the men’s sweat and blood that came before me. I’d have shuddered at the thought if I had any energy left. After weeks of beatings, starvation, and sleep deprivation I couldn’t imagine what more could be done to me.
Kill kill kill you. I was ready.
The door opened timidly as if the intruder had been taught a recent lesson in manners. A robed figure slithered in, silent in slippered feet. If I hadn’t recognized him by his thinning hair and pasty face, then his lecherous stare would have sealed the deal. He was the Elder who had ordered my arrest back at the compound. The same older man ConRad had given me up to.
My heartbeat skipped. I’d thought I used up my quota of fear, but itoken heighs prickling wormed into my belly anyway.
“I’ve heard some very interesting things about you in the past few weeks.” His voice wasn’t what I expected from an old man; instead, it was sweet, calm . . . seductive. “Time travel, prophecy nonsense, location of another portal. Seems like you haven’t stopped talking since you came to visit.”
He walked over to the window and methodically opened the shades, securing each to the wall. Dusk was approaching and a fading pink light fell across the concrete floor.