Brink (Spark City Book 1)

by Cameron Coral

  After he had hunted and killed his mother’s assailants, he turned his attention to Dresden House-the orphanage where he had suffered years of torment. Vance turned the old building of his childhood into a fireball with his masters inside.

  Dr. Acre opened the door leading into the room, reading his computer tablet as he walked. A tall man, he offered his large hand to Vance. “Ah, Mayor Drem, nice to see you. I have your test results.”

  The doctor looked at Katelyn and noticed her lack of progress. “Jennifer, can you please take over? The other nurse can be excused.”

  Jennifer tapped Katelyn’s shoulder and whispered, “Please go now, doctor’s orders.” The young nurse asked no questions and did as she was told, stealing a last longing glance at Vance as she departed.

  After Jennifer set up Vance’s drip properly and slid the needle into his arm, the doctor excused her too. Alone with Vance and his two men, Dr. Acre removed his glasses and took a seat on the edge of the bed. “I have the results of your recent tests.”

  Vance placed his cybernetic left hand across his stomach and leaned forward slightly. “What is the news?”

  Dr. Acre cocked his head slightly in the direction of Vance’s men seated in two gray chairs on either side of the door. “You may want to be alone for this,” he said quietly.

  Vance said, “J-Man, Singlet, leave.” Without hesitation, they rose and departed. “Now Doc, let’s get down to business. What’s the damage?”

  “Unfortunately, the new medication you’ve been injecting—electric blue—isn’t working as I expected.”

  Vance leaned back against the bed, considering the news. The color drained from his face. He started tapping his metal fingers slowly.

  The doctor continued, speaking faster now. “The results simply aren’t showing an increase in white blood cells. In fact, we should stop it immediately, as it appears your body may be having an adverse reaction to the blue—”

  In an instant, Vance leaped from the bed and grabbed the doctor by the collars of his white coat. “You—” Vance’s face was contorted and red with fury, “—promised me.” He threw the doctor onto the floor. He saw his men move in front of the door just outside the room, blocking the view in through a small rectangular glass window.

  Dr. Acre lay on his back, arms raised in a defensive position. His glasses had fallen off, and his tablet had slid into a far corner. “Please, there’s still hope.” He breathed in and out heavily, straining to compose himself.

  Vance started pacing and making jerky contorted movements with his arms. “Hope,” he said. “Do you think I had hope as an orphan, tortured and forced to do unspeakable things?”

  The doctor looked up at Vance in fear and was met with a sharp kick to the side. Acre curled up in pain. “I’ll ask again, Doctor.” Vance knelt and grabbed the man again, bringing them face-to-face. “Do you think my mother had hope as a fourteen-year-old schoolgirl who suddenly found herself pregnant after being assaulted by a group of men?”

  Acre looked on, eyes half-closed in fear of being struck again.

  “Oh yes,” said Vance. “I looked her up—finally found mommy all those years after she abandoned me.”

  The doctor grunted, and tears streamed from his eyes as Vance started to choke him.

  “Do you think there was any chance of hope for her when she was forced to leave school and work in factories, fearing for her life every day and waiting for the bad men to attack her again?”

  Vance laughed as he continued cutting off the doctor’s air. “Well, I found those men, and I captured them. I brought my lovely mother to visit them as they were dying.”

  The doctor’s face started turning blue, his tongue lolled out of his mouth.

  “Do you know what my mother said to me when she saw I had captured those men who had hurt her?” He eased off Acre’s windpipe, so the man would hear. “She said to me, ‘You must forgive them.’ Ha! Utter bullshit, Dr. Acre.”

  Rage filled Vance as the memories of his mother flooded back. He would never forget the sting of her disappointment, her rejection of his vengeance. His staff had found her the next day after she had tried to end her life with a bottle of painkillers. He loved her, but he would never forgive the men who had hurt her or the sins of Dresden House.

  Vance released the doctor’s body, which slid onto the floor. He stood and straightened his suit, looking down at the body. “There is no such thing as hope. We make our own choices.”

  He picked up the doctor’s tablet that had landed in the corner and opened the hospital room door. J-Man and Singlet glanced inside, seeing the doctor’s body. Vance breezed past and handed J-Man the tablet. “Find out what’s on this.”

  In the hallway, Vance rolled down his sleeves and applied his cufflinks. With a quick motion, his suit jacket was back on. He looked fresh from a magazine shoot instead of a murder.

  “Quiz time, Singlet.” Vance started walking and talking over his shoulder as the men fell in line behind him. “How many doctors does that make now?”

  Singlet thought a few moments, counting on his fingers. “That’d be seven, sir.”

  “Seven have failed me! Time to find a new method, gentlemen. I’m done with doctors.” As they walked through the busy lobby of Spark City General, he spied his nurses, Jennifer and Katelyn. With a flourish, he bowed toward them, looked at Katelyn, and extended his right arm in a welcoming gesture. “You are coming with me, lovely,” he said as he flashed a smile. “Have you ever been to my restaurant, The Phoenix?”

  Katelyn hesitated, then quickly joined Vance at his side. Jennifer glared at them, arms crossed, mouth a straight line of disapproval.

  With the young nurse on his arm, Vance strolled out of the lobby onto a busy Spark City street where they climbed into a black, armored SUV. His men followed the pair inside, and they sped away.

  Chapter 12

  Lucy thought about Paul’s story as she climbed the stairs to her apartment. She didn’t believe him. His story was nuts. There was no way he could be cured of a gunshot wound, but he had made it sound so real.

  The old elevator had long been out of service, but eight flights of stairs passed quickly with so much on her mind. Paul had said goodbye at the front door, starting his half-mile walk to his own apartment, which he shared with his brothers and an uncle.

  She had put the key in the door and started turning it when she smelled it. Oh no. Cigarette smoke. Someone else was there in the apartment. Her mom was not a smoker—that was the one vice she didn’t have.

  Before she could reconsider her decision to enter, the door was yanked open. The key was still in the door, her body tipping forward slightly from the force of the door opening.

  “We don’t want none,” said a man with short dark hair and a short, scruffy beard. His crooked, white, button-down shirt was slightly open, revealing a white tank top underneath, and he wore a silver chain around his neck.

  He stepped back and motioned Lucy inside. His cigarette drooped from the side of his mouth, and he let ashes drop all over the floor.

  Lucy knew most of her mom’s suitors were jerks, but this one’s eyes seemed crazy. Dangerous.

  She took two steps back from the doorway, half-turned, and said, “I gotta go meet my friend.” She felt a large hand grab her arm and yank her into the apartment. The man threw her to the floor and slammed the door shut.

  The fall surprised Lucy, and her small shoulder bag was thrown beneath her as she fell. She hoped there was no damage to her latest painting, and her supplies.

  “Your mom and I are having a little party here, aren’t we, sweetie?” He went over to her mother, who was lying on the couch, completely out of it. He started slapping her face to try and rouse her.

  His attention on her mother, Lucy raised herself to her knees and backed into a corner near their round dining table, holding her bag in front of her as a kind of protection.

  There were several kinds of drugs and paraphernalia on the coffee table in front of the
couch. Now the man sat on one end of the table and started slapping her mom even harder, saying, “Wake up, wake up!” He was hurting Vera.

  “Hey.” Lucy managed to stand and approach the man. She decided it would be better to take a gentler tone, maybe reason with him. “She gets this way sometimes. I’m sure she’s fine. Just sleeping. You can’t wake her, I’ve tried.”

  The man grunted and sat back. “Is that so? We were having fun until a little while ago. She took a big hit.” He looked at the table, then at his watch. “Ugh, I gotta go.” He got up and started looking around the floor. “Where’re my shoes?”

  Lucy glanced around the room, searching the floor. She spied a pair of men’s black boots near the door. She said nothing, just grabbed them and placed them near the man. As he put them on, he looked at the table and grabbed a small plastic bag of some drug, stuffing it into his pants pocket. Then he smiled, tossed the bag of drugs back on the table with a smile on his face, and said, “A parting gift.”

  After buttoning the rest of his shirt and throwing on his coat, he looked ready to leave. He made for the door near where Lucy stood. He stood there for a second or more, then said, “Do we have an agreement?” He waited for her answer.

  Lucy’s stomach sank. “What?”

  In one sudden motion, he lunged toward her, taking her by surprise. He pushed his body against her, slamming her into the wall.

  “I said, do we have an agreement?” His hot, caustic breath smelled of stale cigarettes and something else like booze. “I wasn’t here. You didn’t see me. You won’t ever breathe a word of this to a soul. That’s the agreement.”

  He had his hands at her throat, her head pressed back against the wall. Her eyes were wide as she looked at him. She squeaked a yes, and he slowly released her and left.

  She shut the door and locked it securely. Her back against the door, she slid down, an adrenaline release coursing through her body. She moaned in helplessness and anger.

  Lucy went over to the couch to check on her mother. This time, she was worse than usual. Vera didn’t seem to be breathing, and there was vomit on the side of her face that had spilled onto the couch. She turned her mother’s head to one side to prevent her from choking.

  Grabbing her phone, Lucy texted Paul:

  I need your help. Urgent!

  Know the old conservatory on North Pond?

  Need you 2 go there, get lady that lives there. Medic. Bring her to my place.

  Matter of life and death.

  Hurry!

  Chapter 13

  Ida heard three loud bangs on her front door. She had been napping in bed. She was exhausted from everything—the shooting in the square, the events at the TV station, even the drive home last night in the rain. There was too much on her mind.

  And now, someone was banging on her door. Who the hell is this joker? She roused herself, threw on a dry tee-shirt, and put her leather jacket back on.

  Upon opening the door, she nearly fell over when she saw that it was the teenager from the shooting in the square. How did he find me?

  He seemed as surprised as she was, maybe more. He had started to speak, but after seeing her face, his mouth hung open. He couldn’t manage a word.

  “Holy shit, it’s you,” Ida said, breaking the silence.

  “You!”

  “What the hell are you doing here?” Ida looked around behind him to make sure he was alone. She pulled him inside and shut the door. “I told you to forget about the other day. That meant never, ever seeing you again.”

  He was flustered. “I, I didn’t know it was you. Honest to god.”

  “What do you mean?” she asked.

  “Lucy told me to come here and find you. She’s in some kind of trouble.” He pushed his phone with her text message toward Ida to read.

  “Lucy?” Ida grabbed his phone. “You mean the girl that hangs around here with long brown hair? The painter?”

  “Yes, Lucy!” Paul could hardly contain himself. “We gotta get over there.”

  Ida read the text again, her brow furrowed. “Let’s go.” She pulled on her boots, and they went outside. Paul started to jog down the path, and Ida hopped on her bike. “Jump on the back, kid. It’s faster, and you’re my navigator.”

  By the time Ida and Paul arrived at the apartment, Lucy was sobbing. She had lost Vera’s pulse entirely.

  Ida burst into the room and pushed Lucy out of the way to examine her mother. Ida turned the unconscious woman’s head slowly from side to side. She checked for a pulse, and couldn’t find one.

  “We don’t have much time. There’s still some life force in her, but I can’t guarantee anything.”

  Lucy looked back and forth between Paul and Ida. Paul took her hand and said, “It’s her. This is the lady who saved me when I was shot.”

  Lucy’s eyes widened.

  “Hot towels—get me some hot towels. She will be cold if she comes back.” Ida removed her gloves, ripped opened Vera’s shirt, and placed her hands on Vera’s chest. “And shut the door, for chrisake.”

  The two teenagers did as they were told. Lucy felt as if she were in a dream. She watched as Ida held her hands over Vera’s heart. One minute passed, then two. Ida’s eyes were closed, and she was deep in concentration.

  Lucy wondered for a moment why she had thought of summoning Ida in the first place. She had said she was a medic in the war, so Lucy knew Ida would be able to do something, to help somehow. Maybe Paul was right. Maybe Lucy did see things around her differently.

  Another few minutes passed. Outside, they could hear a siren in the distance, and a few passing car horns. Inside the small apartment, there was silence mixed with fear.

  Paul stood with his hands clasped in prayer. He muttered to himself. Lucy stood frozen in place.

  Ida reluctantly removed her hands from Vera’s chest. She sat on her knees for a few minutes, hands on her thighs. She was sweaty and tired. She took a hot towel and used it to wipe off her face.

  “What’s happening?” asked Paul.

  Ida shook her head slowly from side to side.

  Lucy slowly crossed the few steps to her mother’s side. She took one arm that was hanging limply off the edge of the couch and placed it at her side. She knelt beside Vera and lowered her head near her chest, listening for breath.

  Ida stood and backed away a few feet. Paul looked at her with desperation.

  “What’s wrong?” Paul pleaded. His voice had gone a pitch higher. “She’s supposed to be healed now. When you touch her, right?”

  It was Ida’s turn to be frozen in place. “It doesn’t always work,” she said softly. She lowered her head.

  Lucy began to sob.

  Across from the couch was a tall bookshelf containing knick-knacks and Lucy’s paintings from over the years. Hidden between a framed photo of Lucy and Vera, next to a stack of books, a tiny camera captured the events unfolding in the small living room.

  “It’s time for me to go,” said Ida. “There’s nothing I can do for her.” She pulled her jacket and gloves back on and started for the apartment door.

  Paul sat on a small chair off to the side of the couch. He looked hopeless and held his head in his hands.

  “Wait!” Ida had her hand on the doorknob when Lucy jumped up from her seated position next to her dead mother. “Please! Try again, will you?” Lucy stood behind Ida and touched the back of her jacket.

  Ida turned around, her face grim. She said gently, “I’ve done all I can. I’m so sorry for your loss.”

  “No!” Lucy’s quick reprimand startled Ida. Paul, still seated in the chair, seemed to wake up, as if from a dream. “I refuse to accept that answer, soldier! You were a soldier in the military, were you not?”

  Ida hesitated. “Yes, I was,” she said slowly.

  “I have no reason to, but—” Lucy looked back at Paul. “I believe you guys.” She took Ida’s gloved hands in hers. “I believe in you. Please help my mother and try again?”

  Ida said nothing.
She was sweating and tired; exhausted. She felt as if she were starting to get the flu, and wanted nothing more than to bolt from the stuffy, small apartment, get on her bike, and let the cool wind cut through her bones as she rode the streets.

  Ida’s power didn’t always work. If the victims were too far gone—if they had passed over to the other side—Ida couldn’t help. She wasn’t a miracle worker who could raise people from the dead.

  This was the curse of her gift. She was often late to the scene and couldn’t save the lives of those sick and injured who had desperately needed her. There had been so many over the years in the war, perhaps thousands. For every life she managed to save, there were 100 she didn’t. The many dead souls weighed on her and crushed her with guilt.

  But there was something about this girl begging her to try again. It was clear she loved her mother and would be devastated by her loss, and yet Ida had felt the icy vacancy in the woman’s body. She felt gone.

  Lucy’s grip on Ida’s hands tightened. Ida straightened, locked her arms. She looked into Lucy’s eyes. “I will try.”

  Lucy’s face lit up. She raced to the side of the couch and perched there to observe.

  Ida removed her jacket and gloves again, placing them on the small round table. She walked slowly over to the couch and knelt. This time, she placed one hand on Vera’s chest and one on her forehead. She closed her eyes and concentrated. Ida could feel a warm, pulsing energy flowing through her hands into the lifeless body.

  Stronger than before, she felt a cold, almost freezing sensation that seemed to emanate back from Vera’s body. She felt a few more short bursts of cold, almost like tiny lightning bolts hitting her hands and running up into her body.