Focus.
Know the structure. Hold it together.
Just ten seconds.
I raise my hand to focus the energy. I push Will to the side so he falls at Agent Wolfe’s feet. The slab floats in the air for a moment then rockets back to its original place, pushing the flames back outside. Push. The cracks in the front wall that grow with each millisecond stop when my mind touches them. They close. My kung fu is greater than yours. People are shouting from far away, though I am sure they are just beside me. Keep your focus. I feel the blood trickle out from both my nostrils. Keep your focus. The force outside is so huge, my brain actually hurts. I feel it pulsating like a runner’s heart. I can’t hold it much longer. I think I scream.
Then it stops. The force outside stops pushing in. I can’t stop pushing out.
The door, the front wall, even the roof explodes outward, turning the stone into nothing but particles of powder. I pull back whatever I unleashed, still hearing nothing. The second my power hits me, so does the darkness.
This is a better way to die.
FOURTEEN
THE UPPER HAND
“Beatrice? Beatrice Alexander? Can you hear me?”
I’d answer but the blinding white light flashing in my eyes seems more important. I push it away. Weird, it’s attached to a warm hand. With the light gone I can open my eyes, though my focus stinks. I blink a few times and it becomes less fuzzy. Dr. Neill and Will are no longer blurry blobs, just concerned co-workers. I’m in the back seat of a car again. God, my head kills. And what … there’s a tube in my arm attached to a hanging bag with blood in it. The scene from the mausoleum comes rushing back to me. From the pain I’m feeling, I figure I must still be alive.
“How do you feel?” God, does he need to yell?
“I have a bitchin’ headache and don’t shout at me.”
“She’s fine,” Dr. Neill says. “I don’t think there’s any permanent neurological damage, but we’ll do a scan later. The headache should fade in a few days.” She looks at me. “What was the last thing you remember?”
“I guess fainting. Again. Can I please get something for my head?”
“Sorry. Not until your blood volume is higher. You lost a lot.”
“But she’ll be fine?” Will asks, jittering next to me like an expectant father during delivery.
“Few days, good as new. I need to check on the others. Excuse me.” She picks up what looks like a giant tackle box and leaves. Will doesn’t follow. He just looks at me, waiting for something.
“What? I’ll be okay. Just blood loss, possible brain damage, it’s nothing. Did we get Wayland?”
“I don’t know. His body would have disintegrated with the rest. He was in the cemetery, and the blast took out everything in a quarter-mile radius.”
“We could wake Oliver and find out. If he attacks … ”
“No, he stays as is.”
“Is everyone else okay?”
He sighs. “Irie’s in a coma, which we expected. She should come out of it in a few days with no damage. Everyone else is fine, thanks to you. Doc’s staying around to fix them up. Carl’s going to drive you, Irie, Wolfe, and Oliver to mobile command for tests and further treatment. You might need another transfusion. And please don’t fight me on this,” he says in a soft voice. “There is nothing more you can do here. You’ve done enough.”
“No argument here. I’m a crappy liar anyway. What’s the story, cult lets off bomb in cemetery?”
“That’s actually not a bad idea,” he mumbles.
I close my eyes and lay my head against the headrest. “Glad to be of assistance.”
Will misses his cue to leave. “You saved us tonight. I don’t know how, but you did.”
“Then give me a raise.” And leave me to suffer in peace.
“This is serious,” he says. I open my eyes to his somber face. “You saved our lives.”
A smile crosses my face. God, even that hurts. “That’s my job.”
“You’re good at it. Born to it.” He pauses. “And I am so sorry for earlier. For Oliver, for the kid. I handled it badly. I should have listened to you, and I sure as hell shouldn’t have lost my temper. I just saw what he did to you, and I … ” He runs his hand through his hair. “I’m sorry.”
“I forgive you.”
We stare at each other for a moment, both smiling and neither wanting to look away. I doubt the butterflies in my stomach are from the nausea. I’m such a softie. It takes all of two hours for us to forgive each other with a simple gaze. I’m nuts, I know. I was ready to kill him an hour ago, and now I’m making goo goo eyes. If he kissed me, I’d probably forgive him for anything, even if he killed my cat. I may not be an actual mind reader or have much experience with men, but the sparks between us rival those on the Fourth of July. I am not imagining this. He looks away first. “I, um, have a lot to do. I’ll let you get some rest. If you need anything … ”
“I’ll scream.”
Will opens his mouth to say something but closes it. He just nods his head and walks quickly away. Time to test a golden rule. “Okay, if he looks back, he so likes me,” I whisper. He takes a few more steps then his head turns back for just a second, a private smile on his face. “Yes!” I flop back in the seat, my face hurting from the huge grin stretched across it. Is it too soon to pick out china patterns?
Not even the stretcher with the comatose Oliver coming toward the car breaks the smile. “What are you grinning about?” Agent Chandler asks.
“Nothing,” I say, still smiling.
Agent Chandler opens the trunk. “Wish nothing would make me smile.” He clears a space big enough for the body, steps inside the trunk, and pulls the unconscious Oliver into it. The two bullet wounds, along with his other injuries, are now nothing but deep bruises and some dried blood. I doubt even a chain saw could ruin his perfect face. My hand moves to my neck. It’s bandaged but still sticky. Hope they stitched it up when I was out.
“You have to get into the front,” he says, closing the trunk door. “We need to lay Irie back there.”
“Okay.” I unhook my blood bag and step out of the car. The moment I’m upright the spinning starts and my knees buckle. Agent Chandler catches me in time and helps me walk to the passenger’s side door. I look up. Dear Lord, what a sight. This must be what hell looks like.
For as far as I can see, there is nothing but patches of bright orange flame on top of smoking black ground. Nothing stands. No headstones, no trees, nothing living or undead. Fire trucks, red and white lights flashing, litter the scene with men in yellow suits doing their best to extinguish the roaring flames. A helicopter hovers above, using its spotlight to help the men see. I think maybe I’ll avoid Irie from now on.
Agent Chandler pretty much lifts me into the seat and hangs my bag on the dry cleaning hook. He does this without saying a word, and slams the door shut when he leaves. Fine with me, I could use the silence. I close my eyes and rest my head. I don’t care if the Creature from the Black Lagoon takes over Chicago, I am so taking tomorrow off. I’ve been chomped on by zombies, hunted by a werewolf, fought off more zombies, bitten by a vampire, and held off a nuclear blast. Huh, maybe I’ll take a week off.
The driver’s side door opens and closes. I open my eyes to the sight of a gun an inch away from my nose. My eyes leave the barrel and move to its wielder. Fat, sweaty, incredibly peeved-off Walter Wayland. “Oh, come on!”
“Take me to my daughter, bitch!”
“How did—”
He cocks the gun. “Shut up and do as I say, and if you try anything I shoot you and dump your dead friend by the side of the road to burn.”
“Okay, just don’t hurt us. We’ll go get your daughter.”
Still pointing the gun, he starts the car. We pull away slowly past the fire trucks and the pile of fiery metal of what used to be our SUV. We aren’t stopped or even glanced at. Please let them figure out I’m gone soon. Please.
Wayland drives like an old lady u
ntil the fires fade, past the reporters shouting questions, and then guns it down the little road, pistol never leaving my chest. This is not good. I’m in no shape to handle this. When we reach the main road, he stops. “Which way?”
“Uh, left.”
He turns the wheel and off we go.
Okay, Bea, think. He’s driving, so if I do something we could get into a wreck and there’s no guarantee he’ll be knocked out. The gun could go off. The gun, the gun … ugh! I can’t think. My head is literally pounding. I couldn’t lift a feather let alone slow a bullet. Think. What did Steven say to do in a kidnap situation? Yes, my ex and I had weird conversations like this but never ones about important stuff like our future. My fault for dating a cop. What did he say to do? Um … make the assailant see me as a real person and he might hesitate to kill me. Worth a shot. “Do you by any chance have an aspirin? I have a real bad headache.”
“What? No.”
“Damn, I mean darn. Lord, I think I owe my Nana a buck fifty with all the swearing I’ve been doing. A nickel a curse word.”
“I don’t care. Shut up.”
“I’m nervous, okay? I talk when I’m nervous. My talking isn’t going to hurt anything. I can’t kill you with words.”
“I don’t know what you people are capable of. That’s a vampire back there, right? I thought they were made up.”
“Dude, you raise the dead.”
He scoffs. “I knew there were other psychics out there. My grandpa could raise the dead too. I just thought the other stuff was impossible.”
“Did your grandpa train you?”
“Yeah, for five summers. Never used it really, until now.”
“Me neither; well, not consciously. If I had a nightmare, the bed would float. Couldn’t control it though. I never thought there were others like me. Did your wife know?”
He doesn’t answer for a few seconds, probably debating if I’m worth the trouble. “Not until the end,” he finally says. “Emma knew. Her bird died a while ago and I brought him back.”
“That was nice of you.”
“He started rotting and I had to kill him again. She was devastated.”
“Oh.” This conversation is about to take a wrong turn. No death talk. “Well, I’m amazed your wife or anybody else never found out. You’re very powerful.”
He glances at me. “I am?”
“Oh, yeah. Most necromancers can only raise a couple zombies in a night, and they need rituals. And having power over a vampire is very rare too. You’re probably the most powerful necromancer on earth.” Ego stroking, the best defense.
“Good for me,” he says, not at all impressed.
We ride in silence for a few uncomfortable seconds. The other cars zoom past, oblivious to what’s going on. “May I ask you a question?” I finally say. “It’s been really bothering me.”
“What?”
“Why did you kill your wife?”
“None of your fucking business. Jesus, do you ever shut up?”
“Please. I’ve been bitten, chased, and nearly fried. You’re going to get your daughter. You’re probably going to kill me anyways, I just want to know why. Was it just the affair?”
He doesn’t answer right away. “I didn’t find out about that until she died. That son of a bitch Wynn came over all buddy-buddy, and I caught him holding one of her shirts, smelling it.”
“So why kill her?”
“Val found Emma. She freaked out. That bitch actually demanded I put her back in the ground. It was my daughter or my wife. Easy choice.”
“And Wynn?”
“Thought maybe she told him … and yes, I was pissed he’d been sleeping with my wife. And I knew that if someone came looking, that slut Carrie would be the prime suspect, what with her record and all.”
“Good plan; it worked for the most part.”
“Yeah, well, you people, or whatever you are, got too close. Had to take you out.” He says this so matter-of-factly that I get a chill. Another night of firsts. I’ve never met a sociopath before.
“And you nearly did. Twice. We thought for sure you were dead from the blast.”
“I had another car parked near the back of the cemetery. Just floored it.”
“Very smart.”
My cell phone rings, startling us both. Wayland thrusts the gun into my stomach. “Toss it out the window. Now!”
I unclip the ringing phone and chuck it. “It’s gone, it’s gone. Could you please move the gun back a little, you’re hurting me.” Surprisingly he brings it back to its original position. He’s nervous now. I can feel it. I don’t know if that’s a good or a bad thing. “Thank you. Now look, if they’re calling me, then they know I’m gone and they probably know who I’m with. If you kill me, there is going to be a very pissed-off werewolf and a pyrokinetic after you.”
“Shut up.”
“I’m trying to save us both here. Now, I will take you to your daughter. You can leave with her. I promise I won’t stop you. You can disappear into Canada or wherever, but if you kill a federal agent, there will be a worldwide manhunt for you. You won’t be able to hide anywhere, let alone if you have a child … in her condition.” Except he already killed an agent. Please don’t know about Agent Konrad’s death, please!
“Shut up!” he yells through clenched teeth.
“And if they catch you, you’ll either be killed or turned into a science project. And Emma will be incinerated.”
He pokes the gun into my stomach again. “I said shut the fuck up.”
I guess Q&A is over and I’ve failed miserably. He’s angrier now than before. The second he gets Emma it’s a bullet to the brain. I’m too light-headed to run and my power is on the fritz. I can’t hold them in anymore, tears roll down my face and all I can do is wipe them away and try not to sob.
“We’re here.”
We pull up to the trailer and he stops the car.
“My daughter is in there?”
“Yes, but you’ll need the codes to get in.”
“You know them?”
“Yes.”
He raises the gun to my head. “Then give them to me.”
Oh crud, I’ve lost my usefulness. Think! “You’ll also need my fingerprint to open her door.”
He glares at me, gauging if I’m telling the truth. “Fine.” He closes his eyes and the prickling starts again. “Arise.” In the rearview mirror, I see Oliver sit up. His eyes are black and dead like a shark’s. My dried blood still covers his chin. “Get out of the trunk and come get her.”
Like a good puppet, Oliver smashes the glass window of the trunk, making it darn near disintegrate. Just as his feet reach the ground, my door flies off its hinges with metal twisted on metal. Cold hands grab my arm, pulling me out. The needle in my arm rips out and I scream in pain. The blood they just put in rushes back out down my arm in a small stream. The world goes black and I fall down to the grass, clutching my new wound. I can open my eyes but the world is gyrating.
“Pick her up and carry her inside.”
Arms wrap around my chest and jerk me from the ground. Oliver has me in a bear hug so tight I can barely breathe. My feet dangle inches from the grass as he carries me toward the trailer. The world keeps spinning.
Wayland opens the unlocked front door and steps in first. “Which way?”
“Left,” I say. I’m jiggled up the stairs and into the hallway toward medical.
“Punch in the code.”
I have to blink a few times to focus, but I get the code right and the door opens. I’m led in first. “She’s in the freezer over there.”
Gun still aimed, Wayland walks toward the freezer, examining it. “Where’s the fingerprint panel?”
“I lied. You can just open the door.”
He doesn’t seem to care about the lie. The door opens and a blast of cold air hits us. “Hold her tighter.”
Oliver squeezes so tight my ribs make small pops. There’s no pain but even less air can pass. The trailer spins even
faster. I’m going to pass out.
“Emma?”
She must have been waiting by the door for him. Her daddy. The little girl walks out of the dark freezer into her father’s awaiting arms. Her tiny arms encircle his neck and his around her torso. He clutches onto her like a life preserver. “Oh, my baby,” he says into her hair. His eyes well up as he kisses her hair. “I love you. I love you so much.” There isn’t a doubt in my mind those words are true. She grunts, probably trying to say the same thing. This is what I understand. The reason for all of this. Failing the person you love the most and doing everything in your power to make it better.
“I’ll never leave you again. Never again. My pretty, pretty girl.”
The spinning stops and the whole world becomes crystal clear. I know how to stop him.
I know what I have to do.
There are moments in life that a person can never escape. That change who they are and what they’ll become. Mine happened when I was eight. My mom was in love. His name was Leonard, he owned a car wash, and I wanted him for my daddy. He gave us our first home that wasn’t on wheels. He’d give me baths. I guess I loved him too. Then I killed him.
One night he came into my room when Mommy was working at the bar. Leonard lay next to me under the covers, kissing and touching me like he did with Mommy. His calloused hands moved from my chest down. I didn’t like it. It was wrong. He was only supposed to do that with Mommy. I wouldn’t open my legs like he whispered for me to do. I said no, and he slapped my face hard. I whimpered, but I wouldn’t let him push my legs apart. I screamed, I cried, I clawed, but he wouldn’t stop trying. He almost had my legs open.
A picture flashed into my mind, something from Brian’s school book. A red heart, Leonard’s, pumping. Something like a jolt of electricity shot through me and passed into him. In my mind I imagined his heart twisting and bulging like that frog Brian put in a vice. Leonard gasped for air, clutching his chest and clawing at it. The picture returned, still twisted and struggling to pump. I didn’t see anything but that heart, so I barely noticed Leonard falling to the ground beside my bed. Dead. The heart disappeared when he landed. I blinked the tears away, focusing my eyes. His red, swollen tongue poked out like a dead slug. I didn’t scream or cry, I just moved to the corner staring at the dead man, my whole body violently shaking, clutching my knees.
Mind Over Monsters Page 23