But that left him alone.
He could be as cool as possible with regressing, with remembering everything good and bad… but he was alone in his understanding. The real reason he wanted Danielle to regress was to have her camaraderie again. They were the only two on Earth trapped in the Process, but they were now in different stages of attempting to break out.
Devon grabbed his duffel bag in the bedroom. If nothing else, he could go to the gym and work toward a body fit for killing again. He had a score to settle with Nerilis Dunsman, and he wanted him to see Sonall, the second-in-command of Cerilyn’s Second Tribe. He wanted that bastard to look him in the old eyes and see that soul that refused to die and return to the Void.
Then he would settle the score with Cairn, the woman who sold them out… and killed his mother. Both were satisfying enough to make him slit her throat for a change.
***
Except Cairn had been suffering for her sins for a thousand years already.
Even before she died, she repented. And no matter how many times she was reborn, she continued to suffer in this eternal hell. The one that sometimes gave her sweet reprieves in the form of drug-coated chocolates on her birthday. She bought them herself: the chocolates from a local bakery, the drugs from one of Syrfila’s connections.
They allowed her to relive some of her happier memories for a short time. All of it, from the coma to the visions, happened because she welcomed them.
Masochism was both taught and innate for her. An escape, and a punishment.
People she killed. People whose lives she ruined. They flashed before her eyes every time the blade pierced her already scarred skin.
The woman I thrust my blade into because she’s the wife of the target.
The man whose face I stomp because he’s in my way.
The child I shoved so hard his skull cracks open.
The survivors I take.
The wounded I spare.
The assholes I want to kill again and again.
The prisoners we will assimilate, crying for their families and for us to kill them. Some of them will find ways to kill themselves, because they know what we ask them to become.
They had the will to stay true to their morals, their convictions. They would kill themselves before killing others. There was never any hope for me. I grew up in that wretched life.
How does someone maintain that life without killing?
Maybe that’s why I loved her when I thought true love was beyond hopeless.
She couldn’t cut herself. That wouldn’t be fair to all those she cut first. Luckily for her, there was one woman she could count on to slice her open instead. Right there, in her own bed, when night descended on Memorial Day, the day after her thirty-fifth birthday.
Piss her off enough and she’ll try to kill me, she thought. She’s beyond hope. She’s unhinged. She’s killed so many people and done so many drugs that her brain is riddled with holes.
“I hate you.” She said that both to the woman cutting her up and to the woman she remembered from a millennium ago. The woman who broke me first.
The cold touch of the blade was miraculous. How was it not yet warm?
At first, she could not feel the blade pierce her skin, but then it exploded into a searing pain that made her see nothing but a blinding hot white light. Her arms flailed in futility, her voice demanded retribution, and her heart was on the verge of giving up and letting Miranda pass out into unconscious bliss, where Syrfila could do whatever the hell she wanted. But for possessing a weak will, she still had a stronger heart, and her mind held out long enough for Miranda to get that vague sense of déjà vu. The best thing to do was bite her lip and lie still. It had to end at some point.
Out of the corner of her eye she spotted her window, and beyond that the stars and the moon. She kept her mind focused on that while her back was turned into a bloody canvas. The stars were so pretty, like twinkling planets, even if the light from those came from planets destroyed a thousand years before. Some were not destroyed quickly enough.
***
Sometime around midnight, it began to rain.
Not a hard rain, but heavy enough that the splatters of an early summer shower flew against windows and roofs across the city. By sunrise, none if it would remain, but at that moment, the sound of something clean like tears coming from the sky jarred Miranda awake.
She still lay on her stomach, arms spread around her pillow and back aching. She attempted to move. No. It hurt too much. She slammed her reddened face back into the pillow.
Syrfila rolled over to find her bedmate, back caked in dried blood. The bloody knife was trapped in the folds of the blankets near the floor.
They were silent. Miranda intended on working the next morning, bleeding back be damned. Her resilience to pain was one of the only things she had going for her anymore.
“Hey.” Miranda’s breath caressed her pillow. She didn’t look at Syrfila. “Do you love me?”
The mellow drumming of raindrops on the bedroom window peppered the air. It both soothed and irritated Miranda’s awaiting ears. “Why would you ask a stupid question like that?” Syrfila asked.
“You always get so possessive over me. Don’t you love me?”
“You’re insane. There’s no love here.”
Miranda did not want her to say yes and make all the pain go away. Instead, Miranda had seen a pattern in Syrfila’s behavior in the two decades they had intimately known each other. She was a possessive, controlling individual who was quick to jealousy and fast at acting on her desires. Miranda could not help but discern that maybe this was Syrfila’s incredibly fucked up way of saying “I love you.” Not that Syrfila was capable of the usual kind of love people possessed.
“Don’t you, though?”
“You’re cute, darlin’, but I’m not into that romance shit.”
Miranda propped herself up on her bent elbows. Her teeth bore the grunt work of ignoring the cracking scabs on her skin. “What’s love got to do with romance?”
Syrfila pressed her solemn face down into her pillow. “What’s the point of you asking that? You don’t love me either.”
“Have you ever had a girlfriend?”
“What?”
“I mean, didn’t you ever seriously date somebody? Even before coming to Earth?”
Syrfila’s eyes remained closed. “You’d like me to admit that, wouldn’t you?”
“I just want to know.”
Syrfila turned her head the other way. “You know I don’t talk about my past.”
The more uncomfortable she could make Syrfila, the better. “Were you a fuckhead then, too?”
“By your definition, probably.”
Miranda cupped her head in her hands. She glanced at the clock, realizing she had to be up in six hours. “Would you ever say that you had a girlfriend?”
“Don’t wanna talk about it.”
“Is that a yes, then?”
Syrfila sat up long enough to find her T-shirt. “It’s whatever you want it to be.” She kicked back the covers and pushed herself underneath them again. “I’m going to sleep now. You probably should, too. You’ve got work, right? Plus, it will let your back heal, you masochistic freak.”
If only Miranda had her gun handy.
She did, though, in the bottom drawer of the nightstand. All she had to do was reach in and aim it at Syrfila’s head. Yet what was the point in that? She didn’t even know if she could kill Syrfila. Maybe she was immortal. She never revealed her true age to Miranda.
So instead of finding a way to kill the woman who had brought all the shit into her life, Miranda grabbed her alarm clock. Soon, she was back beneath her quilt, wallowing in the fine comfort of her own bed without bothering to turn off the lights.
The rain stopped the moment Miranda dozed off again. She imagined, in her last moments of consciousness, that the drops sliding down her window were like the blood on her back.
There wasn’t enough flagellation in
the world to wash away her sins. But maybe the rain could.
THIRTY-TWO
The slow flow of traffic made Danielle late for work Tuesday morning. Her nerves shook as she searched for her belongings and almost pulled her hamstring trying to make a break for the elevator in the parking garage.
She was still a bit late.
But so was someone else. Danielle had barely pressed the button on the elevator when another woman appeared behind her in a flustered frenzy.
“Look who else is late,” Miranda muttered. They stood side by side while waiting for the elevator.
“Traffic sucks.”
Miranda sighed. “Here’s a deal. I won’t yell at you for being late if you don’t tell on me for being late.”
“Deal.”
The elevator opened. Miranda pushed the button for their floor before leaning against the back of the elevator, eyes closed and hands clutching her briefcase.
“Happy belated birthday,” Danielle said.
“Thanks.”
“Long weekend?”
“You have no idea.”
“I think I might.”
“Oh?”
The lights flickered. “Yes. Long weekend. Didn’t get any rest at all.”
“I hear that.”
The elevator lurched to an abrupt, startling halt.
“What the hell!” Danielle took one stumbling step forward.
Miranda hit the button again. “Fuck.” She pressed the intercom. Static.
They shared a glance before diving for their cell phones.
“Dead.” Danielle slammed her cell phone shut.
Miranda showed off the “no signal” announcement on her phone as well. “Mine’s dead too. What the fuck is this? I’ve never heard of an elevator getting stuck here before.”
“You tried the intercom?”
“Of course!”
Miranda did not thank any of her stars that she was trapped in an elevator with Danielle. This was too convenient. Stuck in an elevator with Danielle was an opportune moment for somebody to get something done.
Syrfila. No doubt it was her doing.
Miranda shoved her phone back into her purse. “I don’t know what to do. The intercom isn’t working, our cell phones don’t get signals in here…which is odd, because I’ve used my phone in here before.”
“Yeah, I text in here once in a while. I should be getting a signal.”
“Somebody is bound to figure out this elevator isn’t working. We’ll be out soon.”
“God, I hope so.”
“What, are you claustrophobic?”
“No, not exactly.” What? Was Danielle supposed to be happy that she was stuck in an elevator? Even if it was with someone who… nope. She knew better than to go there.
“Then calm down. If I didn’t know any better, I would say you didn’t like me.”
“If anything, someone should at least realize that you’re missing and come looking for you. You’re the commander, after all. MIA, AWOL, stuff like that…”
“Sure you’re not just claustrophobic?”
Danielle did not respond.
“Let’s wait a few minutes before panicking,” Miranda suggested.
Danielle crouched down on the floor with a grunt of disproval. Miranda glanced at the security camera. The usual flickering green light was off. Syrfila seemed to have planned this out way in advance, although Miranda had no idea why.
***
In truth, Syrfila planned next to nothing. While in Miranda’s shower, she formulated part of her plan, but she could not imagine the huge luck she’d have when Danielle and Miranda showed up for work at the same exact time. Danielle was the one she wanted to corral. Danielle and Miranda? Amazing.
Her plan was simple enough. Hacking into the military’s security systems within a few minutes was the most impressive feat. (Piece of cake. Or pie. Whatever Syrfila felt like eating at the time.) Within ten minutes, Syrfila shut down the security camera and access to the women’s phones – and that was just using her own clamshell phone. Hacked, of course, with state-of-the-art Federation spyware, but she could get almost anything she wanted if she knew the right person down in the warehouse district.
Once the distractions were inside the elevator, she made sure it would stay stuck for a good, long time. Honestly, she should have joined the FBI instead of the military, but even Syrfila did not think her skills were that great. After all, she came from a world where what she accomplished could be taught in high school. What Federation teen didn’t grow up knowing how to hack into old technology? Earth’s was practically archaic.
But this was not to create some romantic situation for Miranda as a late birthday present. For Syrfila, it was a practical matter of demobilizing them and making sure they had no communication with the outside world.
And with them out of the way, Syrfila was free to go about her business.
There was a laundromat located down the street from where the target stayed. Sure enough, at around nine fifteen in the morning, Alicia stepped out of her friend’s apartment, backpack full of dirty clothing, detergent, and dryer sheets. The look of sheer sobriety on her face was reminiscent of a stick up someone’s ass.
“Help!” Syrfila cried as she ran down the street. She jumped into the laundromat, where only Alicia stood, underwear in her hands. “Has anybody seen my dog? I think he ran in here.”
Alicia looked around the small establishment. “I don’t know. What does it look like?”
Syrfila was a pro at maintaining a frantic dog-owner’s persona. Hell, if she kept it up long enough, she might start believing it herself! “He’s a Basset Hound. Short, long floppy ears, sad looking face. Have you seen him?”
“No. I’m sorry.”
“Oh no…” Syrfila sank down into one of the plastic chairs and covered her face with her hands. “My poor, poor precious baby…”
“That really sucks.” Alicia went back to loading her washing machine while keeping a careful eye on the woman next to her.
“No, it’s okay. I’m sorry for bothering you.” Syrfila lowered her hands and faked another shudder of despondent heartbreak.
Alicia put in the detergent, filled the machine with coins, and started her laundry. She then approached Syrfila. “Have you gone to the animal shelter yet?”
“I thought I would try to find him on my own first.”
Alicia sat down next to her, the charm around her neck reflecting golden light. Without a word, the unsuspecting young woman did something she absolutely should not have: she put a hand on the hardened criminal’s shoulder.
***
Half an hour later, Danielle and Miranda were still trapped in the elevator.
They both sat in opposite corners, silent while morale waned. Every few minutes they checked for a signal. Nothing.
“If we don’t get out of here soon,” Danielle began, “I’m going to have to start stripping.” She regretted saying that almost immediately.
Miranda smiled. “Not like you have anything I haven’t seen on my own body.”
Danielle laughed at such frankness. Too bad all she could think about after that was how hot it was in their sweatbox.
Hot. Hot and sticky. Hot and sticky and so humid that it grew more difficult to breathe. Both Danielle and Miranda slumped down like ragdolls, one grateful to have a handkerchief to wipe off her own sweat while the other fished around in her briefcase for anything similar. When that proved fruitless, Miranda banged it shut again.
“Fuck this. The camera isn’t working anyway.” Miranda unbuttoned the front of her uniform. Granted, Danielle saw her in a bikini that past weekend, but at least that was kosher. What if she had nothing but some lacy pastel bra intent on torturing Danielle as she went insane and her brain was denied oxygen as it rushed to her labia?
Miranda pulled her shirt open as she leaned forward to wiggle out of her long sleeves. Her slip stuck to her chest. “Don’t be shy,” she said. “At least I’m wearing a skirt. You’
ve got pants.”
“I have short sleeves. We’re even.” Danielle strove to keep her eyes off Miranda’s figure. It was too early in the morning to be damned with sexual provocation, let alone at work. “Don’t you think anyone’s noticed that we’re both missing yet?”
“I’m sure. Imagine the jokes.”
The flatness in her voice almost made Danielle forget the meaning of her words. There was one catty response she could come up with, and under any normal circumstance she would have held it in, berated herself for even having it, and moved on with her life as if all was normal. But that morning, her brain on the verge of melting, Danielle thought about holding it in a half second too late. “Whatever. We wouldn’t need a whole half hour in a stopped elevator to get that done.”
The ensuing tension could have been cut with the heel of Miranda’s shoe.
“Wow, Cromwell, that was forward of you. And I’m your superior.”
“Never mind.”
Miranda respected Danielle’s unspoken wish to drop the entire conversation. Danielle stole a glance at her commander, anyway. The silk slip clung to her body, her the curve of her breasts tantalizing Danielle’s fever-dreams.
“So, what did you do this weekend?” Miranda made Danielle look away again before she got caught checking out goods she always denied herself. “Besides meeting the other side of my volleyball spike.”
How should Danielle respond? Woke up naked next to a college boy and made him break up with her ex-girlfriend? Ate two tons of chocolate pudding? Ran to Marlow’s and watched Devon completely regress into somebody she could not remember? If only!
“Lazed around for the most part. What about you? Birthday, right?”
“Yes, as you have already established.”
“How was that?”
Miranda rolled her eyes. How should she respond? Got a makeover with a girl ten years her junior and then had sex with her? Ate some bad chocolate and went into a shock requiring Marlow’s help to get the hell out of? If only!
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