by Ally Blue
“What now, Bo? Huh? What’re you gonna do now?” Sam probed the bleeding cut on his lip with his tongue. “You gonna finish what you started?”
It was a deliberately ambiguous statement, and it worked like a charm. Bo’s lips curled into a fierce smile. He swung. Sam grabbed his wrist, deflecting the blow, then Bo’s mouth was on his, kissing him hard enough to bruise. Sam didn’t even have time to be surprised. He clenched his fists into Bo’s hair and kissed him back, rough and deep.
Fingers marked flesh, teeth bruised and drew blood, as Sam and Bo rolled on the floor, tearing at each other with mouths and hands. Sam’s ankle hit the low glass-topped table in the middle of the room with an audible crack, sending a sharp pain shooting up his leg. He barely noticed.
Bo tore Sam’s shirt off, shoved his arms over his head and bit one nipple so hard that Sam cried out. Sam hooked a leg around Bo’s back and flipped him over, pinning him between his thighs. Bo let out a needy little whimper that shot through Sam like lightning.
“God, Sam, please…” Bo whispered, eyes wide and hot and wanting, and that was all Sam could stand. He buried a hand in Bo’s tangled hair and kissed him with every ounce of his pent-up lust and frustration.
Bo didn’t even pretend to resist any longer. He gave as good as he got, his kiss rough and demanding, and it was almost too intense for Sam to take.
In the back of his mind, Sam knew he should stop what was happening before events spiraled out of control. He knew he shouldn’t let Bo’s hands wander over his body like that, not when that hungry touch eroded his control. But the need rising like lava inside him said differently. He moaned into Bo’s mouth.
Sam wormed a hand between them and squeezed Bo’s erection through his jeans. Bo rolled his hips, thrusting against Sam’s palm. His breathing was ragged, his body shaking. Sam broke the kiss, pushing up on his hands to stare down into Bo’s eyes. Bo’s cheeks were flushed, his lips red and swollen. Sam thought he’d never seen anyone so perfectly desirable in his life.
Bo let out a soft keening sound, arching his body off the floor. “Don’t stop!”
Bo’s breathless plea ramped up Sam’s excitement exponentially, and something inside him shifted. His vision hazed, sound fading as the room grew dim. He felt as though something were sitting on his chest, smothering him. He fought it, panic edging sharp and bright on the borders of awareness.
The fabric of reality unraveled, tore and opened, and something started to squirm through. He could feel it in his mind, though he couldn’t see it yet.
Sam screwed his eyes shut and concentrated, grasping clumsily at the thing with his mind. It eluded him. He tried again, gave a mental shove and felt the thing retreating. Then Bo pulled him down, teeth sinking into his neck, and Sam’s tenuous control shattered. The door in his mind burst open and a malevolent alien consciousness slithered free.
Chapter Seventeen
Sam rolled off Bo, opened his eyes and scrambled to his feet even before he heard the painfully deep hiss. Bo gaped up at him, eyes hazy.
“What?” Bo gasped, visibly trying to pull himself together. “Sam, what…” His eyes focused on a spot behind Sam, and his face went pale. “Fuck!”
Sam reached down and hauled Bo to his feet, then turned to face whatever it was he’d brought through the barrier between realities.
It was like trying to focus on a black light. The creature standing motionless before him was like smoke, its shape undulating and shifting, with no solid outline to anchor the eye. Space itself seemed to warp around the thing, the angles of the room bending inward in a way that made Sam’s head spin.
“Jesus, what is it?”
Bo’s whisper was hoarse with suppressed panic, but controlled. Sam had to admire that. He reigned in his own urge to run screaming from the room.
“This is what I felt,” Sam said as calmly as he could. He was trembling from head to foot, his heart pounding with a terror like he’d never felt in his life. “It came through me.” He shot a wide-eyed glance at Bo, the horror of it rising like a tide inside him. “What do I do? How do I make it go away?”
Bo shook his head, his gaze fixed on the nightmare in front of them. “I don’t know. Strong emotions, it must’ve got free because…” He stopped, and Sam was glad. There was no need to say it. “Maybe, maybe you need another strong emotion to make it go away.”
Sam nodded, unable to answer. His vocal cords felt as paralyzed as the rest of him. He didn’t dare move or speak again. He wondered how in hell Bo was able to remain so calm.
“Try, Sam,” Bo whispered.
As if in response to Bo’s suggestion, an unmistakable sense of threat rolled off the creature in an overwhelming wave. Sam kept himself upright by sheer force of will. He shook his head violently. It’ll get angry if I try to make it leave, he thought with absolute certainty.
“It might work,” Bo hissed. “You have to try. Here, wait…”
Bo’s hand on his crotch was beyond surprising at that point. The sheer shock of it tore a gasp from his throat. To his horror, his cock stirred in response to Bo’s determined stroking. The combination of blind terror and unexpected lust shot through him, too strong to fight, and he felt the alien thing react.
The creature let out a shriek that echoed in Sam’s skull. Then suddenly, shockingly, it was in motion, scuttling toward Sam and Bo. The click and scratch of its all-too-real claws on the wood floor shook Sam out of his frozen fear. Without stopping to think about what he was doing, Sam shoved Bo out of the way and lunged at the shadowy thing.
His hands sank into icy fog that cut painfully into his flesh. The room went dark. Bo’s panicked cries sounded far away, drowned out by the almost-words writhing through Sam’s mind. He felt his body going numb, the cold creeping into his brain. Consciousness began slipping away and Sam couldn’t find it in him to care.
When something grabbed him around the waist and pulled, he wasn’t sure what it was at first. He blinked, his vision cleared, and Bo’s wide-eyed face swam into focus above him. He appeared to be on the floor, though he couldn’t remember how he got there.
“Sam,” Bo panted. “Please talk to me, c’mon!”
“‘M okay,” Sam mumbled. His voice sounded weak and slurred. He looked around and frowned at the apparently empty room. “Where’d it go?”
“It’s in the foyer.” Bo bit his shaking lower lip. “We have to stop it.”
Sam wanted to protest. He wanted to lie there in Bo’s arms, shut his eyes and pretend he hadn’t just let loose a monster from another dimension. Shouts and a high-pitched scream from the foyer galvanized him into action.
“Help me up,” he whispered.
Bo stood and hauled Sam to his feet. Sam leaned on Bo’s shoulder, his head swimming.
“Come on,” Bo said, pulling Sam toward the doorway. “Hurry!”
Sam stumbled after Bo, clinging desperately to his arm. They skidded to a stop just short of the staircase. Sam stared, horrified, Bo’s grief-stricken cry barely registering.
Amy lay shaking on the floor, the monstrous creature looming over her, one serrated claw skewering her thigh to the wooden planks and another poised to penetrate her throat. Blood ran in rivers from gaping wounds in her chest and belly, puddling underneath her. David and Cecile had Andre pinned against the wall, barely holding him back.
“Let me go!” Andre screamed. “It’ll kill her, please!”
A ragged sob broke from Cecile’s throat. “It’ll kill her if you come for it.”
“She’s right,” Sam whispered, shuddering at the sensation of the creature’s mind slithering through his own. “It says so.”
Bo stared at him in shock. “Oh my God. It’s communicating with you?”
Sam didn’t want to consider the implications of that just yet. He’d go crazy if he did, and he didn’t have time for that right now. He had to save Amy. Nothing else mattered.
His gaze still fixed on the nightmare in front of him, Sam drew a deep breath and focused his mind as best he
could, picturing the dimensional gateway sucking the thing back through and slamming shut. With a shriek Sam felt in his bones, the creature pushed its claw against Amy’s throat, just breaking the skin. Amy keened and struggled weakly, a trickle of blood running down her neck. Her face was gray and beaded with sweat. Her wide blue eyes fixed on Sam.
“Help me,” she gasped. “Make it stop.”
I’m trying. Deliberately opening his mind, Sam willed the impossible creature to face him. As far as he could tell it didn’t move, but he felt the sudden weight of its regard just the same.
Thinking past the malice beating at his brow was almost more than Sam could do. He closed his eyes and forced himself to concentrate on the feel of the creature’s mind intertwined with his. Letting himself sink deeper into the core of the thing, he searched for its connection with the other side, looking for a way to send it back.
When he found it, he didn’t hesitate. Stopping to think about what he was doing could be lethal, and he knew it. Acting purely on instinct, he let his awareness shrink to a pinpoint, every ounce of his energy focused on the tenuous cord linking the thing in front of him to the place where it belonged.
Sam opened his eyes. For a moment, it seemed as though his tactic would work. The creature wavered, becoming vague and indistinct. Sam held his breath. Then Amy moved, trying to crawl toward Andre, and everything happened at once.
Too suddenly for Sam to react, the creature became solid once again. Hissing, it sliced its glossy black claw through Amy’s thigh. She shrieked, her fingernails scrabbling at the floor as the thing severed her leg. With a desperate wail, Andre shoved David and Cecile violently aside, and lunged at Amy. His hand grasped Amy’s just as the creature tore her throat out.
Oh no, oh God no! Not knowing what else to do, Sam gave a final, panic-stricken push with his mind. There was a hollow tugging sensation in his chest and a whirling in his head, then in an instant it was gone. He fell to his knees, gasping for breath.
The thing was gone like it had never been there. Bo, David and Cecile were gathered around Andre, who sat clutching Amy’s body in his arms, rocking and whispering against her blood-clotted hair. Guilt settled like a stone in Sam’s guts.
It didn’t surprise Sam to find that he couldn’t stand, or speak. Having that cold alien intelligence in his mind had left him exhausted and weak as a new kitten. He felt himself toppling to the floor and couldn’t stop it. He barely felt it when his head connected with the bare wood.
He closed his eyes for a second. When he opened them, Bo’s worried, tear-stained face hovered over him. Bo didn’t even seem to realize he was crying. “The ambulance and police are coming,” Bo said, laying a hand on Sam’s cheek. “Cecile called.”
Sam had to try twice before he could speak. His voice was a hoarse croak. “Amy… Christ, I’m sorry.”
Sorrow welled in Bo’s eyes. “It’s not your fault.”
Sam didn’t say anything else. He turned his head, pressing his cheek to Bo’s palm. He knew he shouldn’t, knew he didn’t deserve it, but he couldn’t find the strength to resist that gentle touch.
Within minutes, sirens wailed outside, followed by a loud pounding at the front door and a voice saying it was the police. Someone must have gone to let them in, Sam thought, because the room was suddenly full of people and frantic activity. A woman in a paramedic’s uniform nudged Bo gently out of the way and bent over Sam.
“I’m Sherry,” she said with a bland, practiced smile. “I’m going to look you over, okay?”
He nodded. Her voice, brisk and soothing, calmed him.
“What’s your name?” Sherry asked, wrapping a blood pressure cuff around his arm.
“Sam,” he croaked. Raised voices sounded from the other side of the room. He turned his head, but couldn’t see anything past Sherry. “What…?”
He couldn’t make anything else come out, but Sherry evidently understood what he was asking. “The police are questioning your friends,” she told him. She pushed a button on a machine sitting on the floor beside her, and the cuff around Sam’s arm tightened. “Can you tell me what year this is, Sam?”
Sam creased his brow, confused. “T-two thousand and four,” he whispered.
“And where are we right now?” Sherry scribbled numbers on a clipboard as the blood pressure cuff deflated.
“Oleander House,” Sam answered. “In Mississippi. Why are you asking me these things?”
“I know it seems strange,” she said, shining a penlight into his eyes. “I just need to make sure that you’re not confused. Your friend over there said you fell and hit your head pretty hard, and that you were unconscious for a little while. Assessing your mental status is standard procedure after a blow to the head.”
Sam blinked up at the ceiling, surprised. He hadn’t even realized he’d passed out. He lay as quietly as he could while Sherry carefully examined his neck and listened to his chest and belly with a stethoscope.
Dread settled in his chest at the sound of Bo’s increasingly agitated voice. He was clearly arguing with the police, David and Cecile jumping in every few seconds. Andre’s noticeable silence tore at Sam’s heart.
He wasn’t surprised when a burly policeman came to stand beside him. “He fit to answer questions?” the officer asked when Sherry looked up at him.
“Most likely,” Sherry said, obviously put out. “But he’s gonna have to go to the ER and be seen by the doctor before you can talk to him at any length.”
The cop frowned. “Fine. But I gotta ask him a couple of questions right now.”
Sherry stood and crossed her arms. “Go ahead.”
The policeman glared at Sherry. When it became clear that she wasn’t going away, he sighed and crouched down beside Sam.
“I’m Officer Titus,” the man said. He took a small notebook and pen out of his shirt pocket, then jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “What the hell happened here?”
Sam stared up at Officer Titus, resignation making him calm. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”
Titus smiled. “Try me.”
Sam didn’t return the smile. “I accidentally called up a monster from another dimension. It killed her.”
If Titus was at all fazed by this declaration, he didn’t show it. His steely gaze bored unflinchingly into Sam. “You saw this, did you?”
“Yes,” Sam whispered. “It cut her leg off, then it ripped out her throat.”
“He’s telling the truth. We all saw it kill her.”
Sam glanced toward the sound of David’s grief-roughened voice. David stood a few feet away, eyes red and swollen, Cecile’s hand clutched in his.
Officer Titus shot him a stern look. “So you already said. I’m questioning Sam right now.”
Cecile gazed at Sam with something like pity in her eyes. “It wasn’t Sam’s fault,” she said softly. “We just found out. We weren’t even sure he was a focus until just now, when this happened.”
Titus sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Ma’am, I’ve already heard this once, I don’t need to hear it again. We’re all going downtown in a little while to take your official statements, you can explain what the fuck you’re talking about to the detective when we get there. Okay?”
Cecile nodded absently, her gaze never leaving Sam’s. He turned away, unable to face her sympathy when he knew that he’d killed Amy as surely as if he’d cut her open himself.
“All right,” Titus said, pushing to his feet and glancing at Sherry. “Go on and take him to the ER.” He pointed a thick finger at Sam. “Soon as they release you, call the police station in Gautier. Ask for Detective Paulson. She’ll want you to come in and give your statement.”
Sam nodded. At that moment, Andre let out a gut-wrenching wail. Sam raised up on one elbow, needing to see. Two other paramedics were pushing a plastic-covered stretcher out the door. Sam didn’t need to be told what the shape under the plastic was. Bo knelt on the floor beside Andre, holding him and stroking his back while h
e cried.
The sound of Andre’s grief hit Sam like a sledgehammer. He rolled onto his side, away from the heartbreaking sight, and let the tears come. Sherry and another paramedic helped him onto a gurney and wheeled him out the front door to load him into the ambulance. He gazed up at the star-sprinkled sky, watching the red lights flash and trying to forget the sound of Amy’s screams.
Twelve hours later, Sam walked out of the Gautier police station with Detective Paulson’s cell and pager numbers on a business card in his back pocket. He crossed his arms and stared morosely at the concrete beneath his feet. In a few minutes, an officer would come and take him to the hotel where he and the rest of the group had been ordered to stay until the investigation into Amy’s death was finished.
Sam sighed. Everything he owned in the world was still at Oleander House. The detective had promised to send officers to accompany all of them to the house today to collect their things, but at the moment he had nothing but the clothes on his back. He felt dirty and depressed and more exhausted than he’d ever been.
The automatic door whooshed open behind him and footsteps shuffled to a halt on his left. He didn’t have to look up to know who it was. Bo had stayed at the station, waiting for him. He hunched his shoulders and scuffed the toe of his sneaker against the sidewalk.
“No one blames you,” Bo told him softly.
Sam smiled grimly at his feet. “Not even Andre?”
Bo’s silence said it all. “He’s grieving right now,” Bo said after a moment, the faint tremor in his voice the only clue to his own grief. “Give him time. He knows inside that it wasn’t your fault.”
Sam lifted his head to meet Bo’s haunted gaze. “You know as well as I do that Amy would not have died if I hadn’t pushed you like I did. If I hadn’t let my emotions get away from me.”
They stared at each other for a long time, neither speaking. Bo looked away first. “I knew I wanted you from the second I saw you. If I’d just admitted to what I felt instead of trying to deny it, you wouldn’t have been so angry and frustrated, and that…that thing wouldn’t have had its gateway into our world.”