He watched her approach, tugging against his bindings.
“Don’t get too close, Eden. I’m telling you—he’s gone. G-O-N-E. Gone.”
His eyes slicked towards Alex and he growled. Like an animal.
“See?” Alex said.
“That doesn’t prove anything. Even a rabbit would growl if it was strung up on the wall like that.”
When his gaze switched back to her, she saw it. A brief moment of humanity within his pained eyes, as if the man inside him was begging for help. For something to end all the pain and torture that awaited his future. And then it was gone, leaving only rage behind.
“No,” Eden whimpered, imagining he was Mitch. But it was beyond that. No one should be put through that. “He’s still there. There must be something you can do for him.”
“Like what? Nothing works on him anymore.”
“Then put him out of his misery.” Anything would be better than this. “For god’s sake, Alex, there’s a man inside him somewhere.”
“The Clinic doesn’t kill people.”
“Are you fucking kidding me?” she shouted. “You’re torturing him! You’re giving him something, aren’t you? Just give him more.” She glanced around the room and saw trays of medical equipment and tiny vials on them.
“It won’t work.”
“Then what are these? Barbie toys?” She ran to the closest tray, knocking it over while trying to grab it. Supplies flew everywhere, scattering all over the floor. She slid to her knees and frantically started picking up vials and syringes. But their labels all had codes she didn’t understand. “Please tell me some of this is for his pain. Tell me you are giving him something for his pain!” From her knees, she looked up at Alex, begging for her to at least nod. “Please.”
Alex looked down at her calmly. “Like I said, Eden, nothing works.”
As the guards moved forward, she saw Carter standing still behind them, leaning against the wall. He looked even more haggard than the last time she’d seen him, dark rings under his eyes, his body hunched in on itself.
“Carter?” she whimpered. He’d loved her once. A delusional and destructive kind of love, but love nonetheless. He didn’t look at her. Instead, he stared at the monster behind her, his eyes afraid but not surprised, as if he’d seen it all before.
She skittered backwards on her hands and knees until she hit a desk. She watched the men spread out, not knowing which way to move, not seeing a way out of this. Cornered, like an animal.
“Stand up, Eden,” Fields said, his voice cold and mechanical.
“You knew about this,” she said to him, her eyes darting from him to Carter to the other men. “All of you knew about this. How could you let this happen? For god’s sake, Fields, that could be your daughter hanging up there!”
“No,” he said, shaking his head. “That’s nothing like my daughter. It only happens to males.” He flicked his head toward Hyde01 without looking at him.
And somehow it all made sense. None of them saw a human being hanging there. They only saw a monster.
“Then it could be Justin. Carter, I know you hate Mitch, but think about Justin. He’s a person!”
Carter’s stare broke, and he finally looked at her. His face was tired, worn out, confused. “Eden, they’re doing this for you. And for Justin. And even for Mitch. It’s helping them figure out—”
Alex stopped him with a simple raise of her hand. Her smile was predatory, condescending. At any moment Eden imagined the bitch would be offering her candy if she’d just help find her lost puppy. “That’s why we need you,” she said. “Why it can only be you.”
“No-no-no-no-no! If you think I would bring a child into the world with the possibility of this happening to it or Mitch, you have shit for brains. You people are insane. This is all insane.” She wished her voice had been stronger, less pathetic. But her will to fight was dying—she could feel it.
How do you fight people who aren’t capable of feeling anything? Words had no effect, because they could be so easily dismissed. Regardless of how much truth they held. And fists? Fists only left temporary pain, a physical discomfort accepted in the name of righteousness.
“Genetically, the child has to be yours, Eden.” Alex glanced at the guards standing in front of her. Then she looked back at Eden and silently mouthed, “But it doesn’t have to be Mitch’s.”
“No!” Eden yelled the word until her breath ran out.
The men moved in unison, lunging toward her. All three of them, like they’d probably done a hundred other times. She kicked her legs as Fields took hold of one, but the other men each had one of her arms and they weren’t being gentle.
“Please, Fields,” she begged. “Please, don’t do this.” She felt her shoulder give out, the pain making her scream even louder.
Hyde01 echoed her call, crying out to God or to the devil. The sound so frightening, it stopped everyone in the room. They all looked to him, saw him move like he was having a seizure, blood staining his shirt above and below each metal cuff as he slammed his fists against the wall. His cry didn’t stop, not even for a second, even when he started pounding his head against the concrete. Again and again he threw his head back, squirming within his bindings.
Eden wanted to cover her ears like Carter and Alex were. Wanted to make him stop. But all she and the men who held her could do was cringe. But she wouldn’t close her eyes like they were doing. She wouldn’t pretend he wasn’t real. That he didn’t exist. That he didn’t matter.
Fuck them.
He mattered.
She felt the sting of a needle in her arm as one of their goddamned poisons pushed its way into her bloodstream.
“Put her in cage three!” Alex’s scream was barely audible over Hyde01’s howl. The guards lifted her and started carrying her towards the line of cages along the wall. Eden tilted her head all the way back, seeing Hyde01 upside-down between the men who held her upper body. After they put her down and shoved her into the cell, he stopped screaming.
And even though she couldn’t swear to it, right before his head dropped forward and his body slumped like he’d just run out of batteries, she thought she’d seen him smile.
CHAPTER XXVI
Mitch was pacing outside yet-another unremarkable office building, glancing irritatedly at Landon, when the call came in.
Landon checked the caller ID. “It’s my buddy who was watching the liquor store.”
“Well, take the fucking call!”
After a few ‘heys,’ ‘reallys?’ ‘no shits?’ and one mention of Carter’s name, Landon held the phone out towards Mitch. “Someone wants to talk to you.”
Mitch snatched it out of Landon’s hand. “Where is she, asshole?”
“Nice to talk to you too, Turner,” Carter said from the other end of the line. “I’m doing well, thanks.”
“I give about an atom of shit how you’re feeling. Maybe less. Yeah, less. Split that atom in half and right before the big boom, that’s how much I care. Where the fuck is she?”
“I’ll show you.”
He rocked back on his heels. “The Clinic? You’re going to just show me where The Clinic is? Just like that?”
“Well, sure,” Carter said, his tone cloyingly sweet. “Since you’ve always been so nice to me, I thought I’d help you out a little.”
Mitch paused, unsure what to say. Thanks? For what? It could all be part of their master plan—tell the boy scout to invite him to an ambush.
“Are you still there?”
“Yeah,” Mitch grumbled. With no one to trust, never knowing if anyone—and he meant anyone—was bullshitting, what’s a guy to do? He ran a hand over his face roughly. “What the hell do I have to lose?” His life was over. And if, in those very last moments, all he got to do was rip this little fucker’s head off, well, that would have to do.
“Look, she’s in some serious trouble. The Clinic wants to help, but they’re getting desperate. And by ‘desperate’, I mean they’re planning o
n doing something not-so-nice to her. I need your help. But not if you’re going to go in there like a bull in a china shop and ruin everything.”
“Unless someone is wearing red, I can probably control myself.” For the first couple of minutes. “Where are you?”
His sigh was long, drawn out as if his lungs didn’t want to let go of the air. “Bring Landon. He’s still sane, isn’t he?”
Mitch looked over to Landon, instantly suspicious. “Mostly. Why do you want me to bring him?”
“Because he was a cop. And he’ll protect me from being killed.”
“The Clinic wants to kill you?”
“Maybe,” he muttered. “But what I meant was that he’ll protect me from you.”
“Oh, sure. That makes sense. When and where?”
§ § §
“Can’t you drive any faster?” Mitch growled from the passenger seat. The fucking cop wouldn’t let him touch the wheel. Which, in a way, worked out better for Mitch—he’d be able to jump out as soon as he saw Carter, whether the car had come to a complete stop or not.
“We need him to talk, not bleed, so keep your hands to yourself.”
“Sure thing, boss.”
They’d set up a meeting point near the liquor store, but a bit less public. It seemed that not only gun-runners and drug dealers liked backstreet alleys—cops did too. Since the whole thing was ‘off the books’, the guy who’d found Carter wanted to keep the pass-over quiet. Mitch had no problem with that—the fewer people around, the less likely someone would complain about the screaming.
As soon as Landon turned the corner into the alley, Mitch saw them. A balding forty-something guy who looked like he’d spent a few-too-many years eating donuts stood right next to a terrified and oddly-postured Carter. The guy looked like he needed to be in a hospital bed…with the morgue on speed-dial.
Not my problem. Just as he’d planned, he jumped out of the car before it stopped and swung around the opened door, his feet hitting the pavement at a run.
“Turner, stop!” Landon yelled.
All Mitch could see was the bastard who’d helped fuck up his life. Eden’s life. Probably a whole bunch of other people’s. Not through Hyde’s eyes though, which was something.
Landon’s buddy held out one hand, his other one moving to where his weapon would’ve been if he’d been in uniform. “Shit,” he said, stepping in front of Carter. But Mitch was moving as if he’d just been shot out of a cannon, and tubby-there wasn’t going to stop him.
Carter ran for it, hobbling down the alley. Mitch followed, easily doubling the speed Carter was limping at. What was the saying? ‘Don’t run unless someone is chasing you?’ Well, Carter was finally doing something right. Because Mitch was chasing him, and planned on bringing him down like a fucking gazelle.
He heard angry shouts from the cops behind him, but really, who gave a shit? This was ‘off the books’, so there was little they could do to him. He wanted to feel Carter’s jacket in his hand, feel Carter’s cheek against his fist. The desire was overwhelming.
He was gaining. Finally, the years of running on that goddamned treadmill-to-nowhere, trying to expel all his pent-up energy, were paying off. And in such a poetic manner. He reached out just as Carter turned the corner. As soon as he felt the fabric of Carter’s jacket with his fingertips, he yanked backwards. Carter stumbled, his momentum tacking hard, like he’d just plowed into a brick wall. But the wall was next to him, and he hadn’t hit it yet. Ironically, Mitch was there to catch him—literally and literally. He shoved his arm between Carter and the brick, so his wrist buffered the impact of Carter’s head. Mitch cringed at the pain, yanking his hand back out of reflex, sending Carter in the other direction. Carter pitched sideways and fell onto the concrete, not moving quickly enough to stop himself from landing face-first.
Fuck. Mitch couldn’t have the kid unconscious or dead. That would delay the fun of beating information out of him. Mitch shook off the thought. Think, asshole. Think.
Landon had been right—Mitch shouldn’t have come. He was going to just fuck things up, accidentally beating the only guy with any information about The Clinic so badly, he wouldn’t be able to speak.
He leaned over Carter’s body. “Shit, are you okay? I—”
Carter flipped over and kicked Mitch right in the balls. Mitch’s teeth slammed together. But even that wasn’t enough to stop the motherfucking-girlie-ass wail from squeezing through. He was going down. There was no way to stop it. So instead of fighting it, he made sure he landed right on the asshole who’d probably just made him sterile. He also made sure he landed with his fist in Carter’s side.
“Let me go, you bastard! I told you I was going to help, for God’s sake!” Carter struggled underneath Mitch’s larger mass. But Mitch had him pinned so well, he really deserved a WWF Smackdown belt.
The pain in his balls was receding slightly, enough to actually bring things into focus. He liked pain, craved it. He even might’ve asked for more, if he didn’t know it would be another shot below the belt. There was pain, and then there was PAIN. It wasn’t all created equally.
“That wasn’t nice, Carter.” From his knees, he rocked backwards and then stood, bringing Carter up with him, his fist wrapped tightly in the guy’s shirt.
“Nice?” he said, gasping for air. “You just chased me down an alley and tackled me! And I’m the one who’s not nice?”
“True, but I’ve never claimed to be a decent guy—you have. Repeatedly.” Mitch grabbed him by the scruff of the neck and dragged him towards the footsteps thundering down the alley.
Landon skidded to a stop, as breathless as Mitch and Carter were. A few seconds later, his buddy caught up, completely red-faced and wheezing.
“Damn it, Turner! I’m so tired of this shit!”
“Yeah, but look what I found. Can I keep him?” Mitch squished up his mouth and looked at the kid he held. His forehead and lip were bleeding. “You know, once I clean him up a little.” Mitch leaned down and dusted him off.
Carter shoved Mitch away weakly. “Keep him away from me. I’ll help, but only if you can control him.”
“Wow,” Mitch said sarcastically. “Face facts, Carter. You’re not a boy scout anymore. They’ve stripped you of all your patches and yanked off that sash so fucking hard, you’re probably bleeding internally. If not, I’ll make sure you are soon.”
“Leave him alone.” Landon pushed Mitch backwards with a shove to his chest, creating distance between him and Carter. But seriously, he’d need to create about a mile and a half of distance to keep him safe from Mitch. “He’s right—he said he would help. Now don’t you think it’s a good idea to let him tell us why?”
Mitch cocked his head to the side. “I wasn’t going to hurt him.” Too badly.
Carter ran his tongue over his lip and then wiped it with his hand, pulling it away to look at the blood. “Yeah, well… Try harder next time.”
“Give me your hands, Turner,” Landon said.
Mitch sneered, holding his hands out. “Now you want to hold my hand, Landon? I thought you didn’t want anyone knowing about our love.” Then he saw the cuffs come out. “Oh, come on! I was just kidding.”
“I’m done with the games. I’m done with the jokes. You’re gonna get someone killed. And, unfortunately, it probably won’t be you. Shit, it’ll probably be me. So give me your goddamn hands before I shoot you and put us all out of our misery.”
Mitch looked at the three men. Two of them feared him for sure, maybe three. And all three definitely hated him. Could he take all three down? Yeah. While in cuffs? Hmm… maybe not. But Landon’s expression didn’t change.
“I won’t let anything happen to you, Turner,” Landon said quietly. “Remember that list.” The list. Landon was promising on the lives of his family. Although, it was a moot point if Mitch was already dead.
“I’m not talking until he’s wearing those,” Carter said, nodding towards the cuffs.
Fuck. If he had the kid
alone, it wouldn’t be an issue. But the city’s not-quite-finest were waiting. Impatiently. Did he have a choice here?
His mind flashed over the past few weeks, then a brief, condensed version of the last fifteen years. When the hell had he ever had a choice? He stewed in that realization, the discovery of the fucking century, until he realized something else. He was still alive, still fighting. Without ever having the chance to rule his own miserable life, he was still kicking. So what did one more decision made by someone else matter? If he had to, he would take down the entire world wearing two shiny, metal bracelets.
“I need your hands.” Landon’s voice was subdued, quiet, borderline-regretful.
Without any other option, Mitch stuck out his hands, his jaw clenched tightly. Positive that at least he could take out Carter before he was killed—if that’s what he’d just signed up for by allowing his hands to be bound. A second later, two matching bracelets were attached to his wrists.
“It’s about time,” Carter said.
Landon glared at him then flicked his head. “Let’s go back to the cars to talk.” The other cop and Carter walked ahead of them, despite the fact that handcuffs could hardly hold Mitch back. In fact, the short chain connecting them would fit perfectly around someone’s neck.
Landon yanked him forward, bringing them closer together. “Don’t say anything,” he mumbled.
Mitch turned to him. “What?”
“Shut up.” He held the key to the cuffs in his palm, covering the other men’s views with his fingers.
“Don’t tease me, cop.”
He tucked the key into Mitch’s hand. “You can put it in your own goddamned pocket, asshole. I’m not putting my hand anywhere near your pants.”
Mitch stifled his chuckle, closing his fist around the key and turning away before shoving it into the pocket of his jeans. It would take him at least a few seconds to get it out, but at least he wouldn’t be defenseless. Not now. Not ever.
“Thanks,” he said gruffly, walking next to the only man in the world who might actually deserve his trust. “I’m glad I didn’t kill you.”
“Oh, please. It would never happen. I’d have come back and beaten your ass.”
Jekyll, an Urban Fantasy Page 26