Possession

by T. M. Frazier

  Fourteen

  We sneak up on the Los Muertos compound. King rounds the back with several of the men, and I lead Sandy and Haze around to the other side. Haze stays at our rear while we creep around in the darkness. The sounds of the first bullets pierce the air, and it’s just the distraction we need to make progress. We crouch as low to the ground as we can through a hole we cut into the fence.

  A soldier appears from the back of a building, running toward the gunfire. He spots us and stops, but before he can open his mouth to call to the other men or raise his gun, I fire two rounds into his head.

  The three of us continue on, stepping over the corpse and making our way between two buildings.

  When we hear movement, we press our backs to the wall.

  Then we wait.

  A single pair of footsteps pass us by in the dark. Sandy looks around and gives me a thumbs up. Haze tips his chin. They’ll cover me.

  Just like they always have.

  I rise from the shadows and surprise the soldier from behind. I wrap my gun around his neck, pulling it tight so the fucker knows how this will end for him. Haze retrieves the soldier’s fallen gun.

  “Where the fuck is she?” I growl, giving him just enough room between the gun and his throat to draw the breath it takes to answer.

  “Where is who?” he rasps, struggling in my grip.

  “The Mona fucking Lisa,” Sandy quips. “Who the fuck do you think?”

  “I’ll never fucking tell you,” he replies, eyes bulging from his head. “You Bedlam bastards can burn in hell.”

  I kick the man to his knees and draw my pistol, pressing my gun against his temple. “Where is she, motherfucker?”

  He bares his teeth. “Never.”

  There’s an unwavering determination in his words along with something else. Something stronger. Something I can work with. Fear. “There’s nothing you can do to me that Marco won’t do worse.”

  I chuckle. “Wanna bet?”

  Sandy keeps his gun trained on the soldier while I pull my blade and slice off his ear. I hold up his former body part for him to see then toss it into his lap.

  He’s screaming, pressing his hand to the gushing wound where his ear used to be. His blood is black under the moonlight, spilling between his fingers and down his forearm.

  “Is that worse than what Marco will do to you?” I ask.

  “Please, don’t. No more,” he cries. I’m disappointed he’s crumbling so quickly. There are so many more of his body parts I’d like to cut off and show him.

  “Where is she?”

  He raises a shaky, bloodied finger and points toward the back of the compound. “Center building in the back. The one with the upside-down truck out front. Second floor.”

  “See, now was that so hard?” Sandy asks, patting his head like a dog who’d finally learned to sit on command. He takes a step back and tosses me my gun.

  I pull the trigger without hesitation. The man falls lifelessly to the ground. I crouch over the body and wipe the splattered blood from the side of my face with the back of my hand.

  Haze steps into view, scanning the area around us. “You did Marco a favor. That one broke way too easy.”

  The gunshots continue to sound in the distance. We come across body after body laid out in the grass. Thankfully, none of them are ours. We approach the building that might hold my girl. There’s a commotion on the other side. A series of close gunshots echoes around us.

  We stay close to the building. When we get to the front, we see King and our men coming through from the left taking out soldier after soldier.

  “Go!” he yells to me as more Los Muertos appear from between buildings.

  Gunshots ring out from open windows and doors. The grass begins to explode as bullets land at our feet.

  We race to the front of the building. Soldier after soldier appears from nowhere like we’re in one of Sandy’s video games. Together, the three of us make a run for it, taking each and every one of them down as we go. Blood rains down on us, coating our faces in the war paint of victory.

  I’m coming for you, Tricks.

  Just as the thought crosses my mind, bullets whizz past my head from behind. I turn to see Haze holding his bloodied shoulder and Sandy tucked into a nook on the other side of the narrow grassy space between buildings.

  “We got you brother!” Haze shouts, holding his gun with his unwounded arm. “Just go!”

  They return round after round of fire as I turn back to the building and come across a struggle taking place only twenty feet away.

  I see the yellow bandana of a Los Muertos soldier. He’s wrestling with someone much smaller. He raises the barrel of his gun, and it lands with a smack against other person’s skull, who falls limp into his arms. A flash of blonde curls shines under the moonlight.

  Tricks.

  The soldier flips her onto his shoulder like a sack of cement. He makes his way to the door without noticing me creeping up behind him. He’s got one hand on the door handle. I press my gun to the back of his head.

  “Drop her,” I command.

  He does what I ask, chucking Tricks from his shoulder. She lands with a thud on the ground.

  “Turn around,” I order.

  He does so, slowly. Too slowly.

  “Memo, nice to see you again,” I remark.

  “Nice to see—” He doesn’t have time for even a single sarcastic remark because I interrupt him by sending a bullet into his head.

  “Tricks!” I yell, shaking her.

  She murmurs incoherently. I gather her up and lift her from the ground, cradling her in my arms. Spotting the nearest fence I make it my destination. There’s no exit to be seen, but I find something better. Rather, someone better, and he’s standing just on the other side.

  Rollo grabs hold of the chain link panel. “I got you, Boss.” He pulls on it until it’s free from where it’s rooted in the ground, bending it upward to give me room to carefully duck under without scraping Trick’s limbs on the jagged metal. “Van’s back here,” he says, leading the way.

  “Don’t die on me, Tricks,” I command. “Don’t you dare fucking die on me!”

  Fifteen

  I’ve been watching over Tricks as she sleeps for over a day. The doctor has come and gone. She’s in shock. She needs time.

  Mr. Fuzzy leaps up on the bed. Marci brought him to the reservation this morning since we were all camping out here and there was no one at the house to care for him.

  Although, Mr. Fuzzy isn’t like other cats. I’ve got no doubt he can fend for himself. Exhibit A: The mangled squirrel hanging from his mouth. He drops the dead thing on top of the blankets covering Tricks. Using his nose he pushes the gruesome offering up her body.

  I grab a towel and pluck the squirrel from the bed, tossing it out the window. Mr. Fuzzy hisses.

  I fall back into the chair at the side of the bed. The demon cat himself takes the opportunity to leap onto my lap. Displeasure glows in his bright eyes as he stares me down with a look of displeasure that’s downright human. “Trust me,” I tell him. “There’s nothing more I’d like to do than drop a corpse at her feet, but one thing at a time.”

  Fuzzy jumps out through the open window, leaving with a dramatic hiss.

  “Little shit,” I mutter.

  Tricks sits up with a sudden start, gasping for air like she’s drowning. “What about Gabby? They’ll kill her!” she screams.

  Gently, I place my hand on her arm. “We’re working on a plan. I promise. We’ll get her out.” I tell her.

  I hope.

  The devastation written all over her face is too much to bear. I can’t imagine it if I had to tell her that Gabby was dead.

  Tricks nods. Her body begins to tremble. Her shoulders shake, her teeth chatter. I wrap a blanket around her arms and pull her into me.

  She hesitates before finally giving in, resting her head against my chest. After a few minutes her breathing evens out and I think she’s asleep again. Slowly,
I set her back on the bed. She’s rail thin, cut and bruised all over. Her skin is pale. Dark half-moons line her eyes. The purple and black bruises between her legs make me both want to vomit and spill more blood. “Fuck, Tricks.”

  I’m going to take an extreme amount of pleasure in killing Marco and feed him his own dick.

  “Is it really you? Am I really safe?” she mumbles, pushing herself back to a sitting position.

  My rage is momentarily on hold when my eyes meet Tricks’s unfocused gaze. “Yes, it’s me. You’re safe now. Rest.”

  She nods. “Okay.” Her eyes roll back in her head, and she falls to the side like timber in the woods. I catch her in my arms.

  “Tricks!” I yell, lightly slapping her cheeks. “Tricks.”

  Nothing.

  * * *

  Emma Jean

  * * *

  Too-ra-loo-ra-loo-ral

  Too-ra-loo-ra-li

  Too-ra-loo-ra-loo-ral

  Hush now, don't you cry

  Too-ra-loo-ra-loo-ral

  Too-ra-loo-ra-li

  Too-ra-loo-ra-loo-ral

  * * *

  The voice softly singing the slow lullaby in my head isn’t mine this time. It’s deep and smooth, like Frank Sinatra. Relaxing in a way I’ve never felt before. It’s that song that usually sparks my consciousness, but this time it does little to rouse me. Instead, I decide to stay here, floating in space, where no one and nothing can hurt me. I hum the song along with the voice and allow myself to drift off into oblivion.

  * * *

  Too-ra-loo-ra-loo-ral

  Too-ra-loo-ra-li

  Too-ra-loo-ra-loo-ral

  Hush now, don't you cry

  Too-ra-loo-ra-loo-ral

  Too-ra-loo-ra-li

  Too-ra-loo-ra-loo-ral

  Sixteen

  Emptiness.

  That’s what I think when Tricks’s eyes flutter open and she stares up at me blankly, like a doll with glass eyes. There’s nothing there. No spark. No fire.

  No life.

  I can taste the bitterness of my disappointment. I’m still not used to it, even though it tastes the same every time Tricks wakes up as a shell of her former self.

  It’s been weeks since the night at Los Muertos.

  “Tricks,” I murmur, trying to guide her back to the land of the living like I’m coaxing a kitten out of a corner without scaring it.

  “Do whatever you want. Just don’t hurt me,” she whispers, staring over my shoulder at nothing.

  She pushes down the blankets, spreading her arms and legs wide, giving me full access to her naked body. The bruises on her body have faded, with the exception of a few of the nastier ones, but it’s the injury to her mind that has her trapped somewhere I can’t reach her.

  I growl and try to shove my rage down deep. Thoughts of tearing Marco’s limbs from his fucking body will have to wait yet another day. My anger won’t help me here. Not now. Not while Tricks is awake but still a million miles away.

  “Tricks, it’s me,” I tell her. “It’s Grim. I’d never hurt you. You’re safe.”

  Her mouth hangs open, and her legs spread farther apart.

  I push them back together. “Fuck. What do you need me to do for you? Tell me, Tricks. Anything and it’s yours. Let me help you. What can I do?” I ask.

  “Do whatever you want,” she answers flatly, with no emotion at all. No anger. No happiness. No sadness.

  No Tricks.

  I toss the covers back over her body and storm out of the room. I grab the bottle of whiskey from above the fridge in the lounge and take two long swallows, wiping my lips with the back of my hand as the liquor burns its way through my throat.

  “Any change?” Marci asks. She’s sitting at the table, sipping from a steaming mug. She holds out her hand, and I pass her the bottle. She pours in the whiskey until her mug is filled to the brim.

  “No,” I tell her. “Nothing I do seems to work. It’s been two weeks.”

  “The doctor said it’s going to take some time,” Marci says. Her words are meant to reassure me, but they only frustrate me further.

  “He also said probably no more than a couple of weeks.” I ball my fists. Marci hands me the bottle, and I chug until my eyes water. I plop down at the table and slam the bottle down.

  “Yeah, but that was the MD. The shrink said it could be more.”

  I sigh, we may have won the battle at Los Muertos, but I’m losing the one with Tricks. I hate defeat more than I hate the fact that Marco is somehow still breathing. The fucker probably hid and watched us kill a good number of his men from a third floor window.

  “You know,” Marci says calmly, sipping her drink. “When I first met Belly and he saved me from the MC, I was very much the same way Tricks was at first. The way he used to tell the story, I did nothing but lay in bed for weeks, and when he did approach me to give me food or offer comfort, I’d go full exorcist on him. I don’t remember any of it. You wanna know why?”

  “Why?”

  “Because it wasn’t me. I wasn’t really there. I needed to heal before I could join the rest of the world. Tricks needs the same.”

  “Really?” I ask. “Belly never told me that.”

  “Good. Because as far as romances go, ours would not have been a bestseller.” She chuckles, then smiles into her mug. “But it was ours. And it was wonderful. When I came back from the brink and back to Belly, I was never lost again.”

  “How though?” I press. “How did he bring you back?”

  She takes my hand in hers. “It was Belly. He stopped treating me like the nightmare I’d become and instead treated me like who I was before I’d slipped away. He cared for me like the woman he had been falling for, not the broken version of me who replaced her. He was himself. Angry, demanding, and the most horrible joke-teller who ever lived.” She sighs. “But by treating me like I was alive, he coaxed me into wanting to live again.”

  I slide the chair out and stand. I’m going back to Tricks and I’m going back now. “Thank you.”

  Marci reaches out and grabs my hand. “Just be careful, Grim. The broken don’t need to be put back together, they need to be loved for all their pieces.”

  I stand above Tricks for over an hour, watching her. The look of nothingness on her perfect face is killing me. Hurting me in ways I didn’t know I could be hurt. My hurt becomes anger in an instant. Instead of pushing it down, I use the anger and do what Marci said Belly did. I treat Tricks not as the shell I see before me, but as the woman I fell in love with. I grab her head, forcing her to look at me.

  “I’ll give you time, Tricks, but this isn’t over. We aren’t the kind of thing that can just be over. You and me Tricks. We. Don’t. End.”

  We. Don’t. End.

  It’s both a threat and a promise.

  And neither makes a damn thing better.

  Tricks is exposed yet again, having kicked off the blankets each time I try and cover her up. Spreading herself in offering. Giving into the darkness in her head instead of fighting.

  I’ve never believed in fate or anything cosmic. But the way I want, no the way I need Tricks is more than just my body begging to be joined with hers. I’m a man who’s recognized himself in a woman. She’s my other half. The piece of me that’s been missing since the day I was born.

  She’s my humanity.

  And right now, that humanity is gone, lost somewhere deep inside herself.

  Tricks stands from the bed and approaches my chair. Again, she’s awake, but it’s as if she’s sleepwalking. Her eyes still glazed over and unfocused. She drops to her knees before me. Blank as a slate, unresponsive. Waiting for my command.

  She’s used to being raped. Tortured by Marco and who the fuck knows else. I don’t know exactly what to do to bring her back to life, but I’m willing to try anything.

  Because I won’t give up on her. Not now.

  Not ever.

  I take the back of her head, entwining her hair in my hands. I pull hard, too fucking
hard. Her blue-green eyes stay unchanged, but the smallest gasp escapes her mouth. It’s not what I was looking for, but it’s fucking SOMETHING.

  She looks up at me as if I’ve just hit her sex-slave on switch. She opens her mouth and licks her lips. It’s robotic and makes my stomach roll. She unzips my fly and frees my cock. With one touch of my flesh to her hand, I’m hard as hell, and for the first time in my life, I fucking hate myself for it.

  She licks along my shaft and deep throats my cock. I wish I could enjoy her warm mouth wrapped around me, but there’s no joy when there’s no Tricks, and she’s not fucking here.

  Frustrated, I lift her by her arms and toss her onto the bed. It’s wrong. It’s so fucking wrong, but nothing has fucking worked, and I’m growing more and more desperate as the days pass.

  I push her panties to the side and enter her roughly in one painful thrust. Both to her, to me, and to my heart. Her head falls to the side once more, her eyes open like she’s looking out a window that’s not there.

  I thrust gently the second time, but she still doesn’t move. Her tits bounce gently. Her mouth falls open. She’s like a goddamned corpse. She doesn’t blink. Doesn’t talk. Frustrated, I growl and thrust harder. Nothing. Then, harder and harder still, until the top of her head slams against the headboard, but even then, she doesn’t so much as grimace.

  Desperate, I lean down and whisper, “Come back to me, EJ. It’s me. It’s Grim. I’m here. I love you. I fucking love you so much. Tell me something. Anything. Please, Tricks. Please. Tell me what you want me to do. How I can help you? I’m dying here without you.”

  She rolls her head back to face me and my heart lights up with hope that’s quickly dimmed. “Do whatever you want to do,” she repeats the same emotionless line from before.

  I growl, “Fuck this.” I lift her hips, slamming into her. “Is this what you want?” I cry, and it’s not a stretch because my eyes are filled with tears. I slam into her harder. “Is this what you need to come back to me?”