Aislen looked confused and a bit hurt by his rejection. “I don’t understand. Why is your signature different now? What happened?”
You happened! Raze raged internally.
Aislen was visibly taken aback. She'd heard him. He’d forgotten she was telepathic, too.
“It’s not important why,” he snapped. “But we have to work around it if we are going to stay alive. So back to my original plan. You need to keep broadcasting my original frequency, as a primary over your own.”
And I'll be the “guest” in my own house, he added to himself. Which is just really fucking great!
Aislen winced, again reacting to his internal dialog.
And we are going to utilize those telepathic skills of yours, too. Raze threw at her. “You can only speak your real thoughts out here. There are no Qi Readers on the roof. And the waterfall creates enough negative ion interference it will scramble signals.
“But inside, when you speak, it can only be as, well, let’s just say my ‘romantic’ guest. Which means you shouldn't talk much at all. Do you understand?”
Yes.
Smartass.
Raze got extremely serious. “Let me be very, very clear. You can trust that The 8 will be looking for discrepancies. Whether you believe it or not, care or don’t, I am on thin ice trying to contain this shit storm until an option presents itself.”
Aislen nodded her head that she understood.
“Are you ready?” Raze asked.
Aislen set his energy in her space to full blast. “Ready.”
Raze stepped aside and allowed Aislen to lead them back into what would be a shark tank.
Twenty-One
“Two sticks in a bucket.”
“Two sticks in a bucket.”
“Two sticks in a bucket.”
Blake recited the trigger phrase ad nauseam, an incantation he hoped would block out the phantoms that kept showing up to torment him.
It didn’t work. They wouldn’t leave him alone. The cops. The doctors. The memories.
The only one who never came…was his dad. Blake missed his dad. But he was probably pretty mad at him.
He missed his mom, too, and his sister, but not as much.
He really missed his video games.
He heard the tapping of heels approaching just outside his room, another tormentor on their way.
“Two sticks in a bucket.”
“Two sticks in a bucket.”
“Two sticks in a bucket.”
He heard mumbling voices. The cop guarding the door and another that sounded more familiar. There was the jingling of keys, the slide of metal in the lock, and the clank of the bolt disengaging.
“Two sticks in a bucket.”
“Two sticks in a bucket.”
“Two sticks in a bucket.”
Mr. Troy walked in the door dragging a chair behind him. He set the chair right next to the bed, then sat in it, leaning in close to Blake and resting his arms on his legs. He did that at group, too, like he was just one of the guys. But his proximity now felt threatening.
“Two sticks in a bucket.”
“Two sticks in a bucket.”
“Two sticks in a buck–”
“Shut the fuck up.” It wasn’t Mr. Troy’s nice voice.
Blake did as he was told. He didn’t remember how not to anymore.
“Okay, you little shit. You are on assignment. I need you to help me with a new adventure. Do you remember that woman that showed up in your little video game? The hot red head? The one who was in here with me just a couple of days ago?”
“Yea–uh, I mean yes, Mr. Troy.”
“I’m sure you do. Well, I need to know where she is. I know some of those skills you’ve been practicing have probably rubbed off on you, and I need you to tap into them and see if you can tell me where I can find her.”
Blake began rocking back and forth. Reciting his prayer, but in his head.
“Blake! Knock it off!” Mr. Troy slapped him on the side of the head. “I am not fucking around here. I need you to tap in and figure out where she is!”
“Ichiban,” Blake whispered.
“Fuck Ichiban! He’s no use to us anymore. But Aislen–she is important. So tap into that voodoo shit and see where she is.”
“But I don’t know how to do that,” Blake said. “Ichiban does.”
“God damn it, Blake! Lay off the Ichiban shit. Try to remember how he did it and do it yourself!”
“I bet you wish you didn’t kill him now, huh?”
Troy cocked his head to the side. “Excuse me?”
“Ichiban.”
“Blake, I don’t know what game you’re playing here, but I am not in the mood for games. Ichiban ain’t around anymore. He’s in hell having coffee with your dead dad.”
Blake stopped rocking. His head cocked to the side this time, grotesquely, perpendicular to his body, then snapped back.
“Well, that was really uncalled for.” Sigmund spoke in his own voice now.
Troy’s mouth fell open, and he sat back in the chair.
“You really didn’t think you were going to get rid of me that easily, did you?”
“What the fuck?!” Troy stood up from the chair, knocking it to the ground.
“Everything all right in there?” the police guard called through the door.
“It’s fine! My fault!” Sigmund answered, simulating Troy’s casual tone.
Troy looked at Sigmund, dumbfounded.
“I know, pretty fucking impressive, right?” Sigmund couldn’t help but take pleasure in Troy’s mortification. “I mean, you already knew I had an ‘in’ here, right? I’ve been using little Blake here as a vehicle for months now. So it was an easy escape route. But this isn’t good enough. And you are going to help me with the rest.”
Troy’s head waggled spastically as his brain tried to process this turn of events and everything Blake–no, Sigmund–was suggesting.
“I can’t help you! I work for Grant! And Infinium! They’ll kill me!”
“You aren’t that bright are you, son? You know they’ll kill you anyway because you killed me!”
“They were going to kill you!”
Sigmund snorted. “They thought they were. That was their plan. But they needed me for the rest of their plan first. How do you think they were going to take care of my grandson and great-granddaughter without me around?”
“Well, I am going to find Aislen, and we will use her as bait for her dad.”
“No, no, NO! You numbskull! Infinium is no threat to Ashlyn. I know she seems harmless, but her genetic potential is exponentially greater than her father’s and her grandfather’s.
“And my grandson will not come around to save her–from you, or Grant, or The 8. He won’t fall for that trap. He knows what she is capable of. No, you need me. Because I am the only threat to my dear little Poppet.”
“How are you a threat? You’re dead! Well, you’re a 12-year-old! What the fuck can you do like that!”
“That’s where you come in. Now pick up that chair and sit the fuck down. You need some schooling.”
Troy reluctantly did as he was told. Sigmund put his feet on the floor and practiced walking his temporary body around the room.
“Have you confirmed that my old shell is dead?”
Troy watched Blake’s body warily. “Yes…it’s dead.”
Sigmund’s legs were like a newly born giraffe’s, weak and wobbly. He took a step and promptly stumbled sideways into the wall. He braced himself for a second, finding his equilibrium in his new, smaller stature.
“Good. Now, I need you to make sure they cremate the body as soon as possible…by tonight.”
“Uhhh, is that important?”
“Would I say it if it wasn’t? Yes, it’s important! Don’t they teach you maggots anything? A lot of my frequency is still tied up in the cell structure of that body. It doesn’t release completely just because I ‘died.’” Sigmund began piloting Blake’s framework around
the room one cautious step at a time. “Each and every cell has frequency in it, and as long as it takes for those cells to decompose, I have less power available to stay in this vehicle. I need it cremated now so I’ll have the energy to hold on to Blake until I can take over my next body.”
“Your next body?”
“Yes, you idiot. I can’t stay in here! This cell structure and resonant frequency isn’t a good enough match. I need a genetic match.” Sigmund was feeling it now, the springy juvenescence of Blake’s boyhood. He traipsed into a jig, encircling Troy in newfound delight.
“Aislen,” Troy said, warily eying Sigmund as he whirled around him.
“Yes, Ashlyn! Why can’t anyone pronounce her name right?!” Sigmund stalked to the front of the chair and looked Troy eye to eye.
“You need to get that body cremated and get me out of here. Time’s a-wasting. Every minute that Ashlyn is allowed to Travel, she grows in knowledge, understanding, and skill. She’s learning quickly. I need all of my energy, and I need to get out of here so we can interrupt that process.”
“Wait?! How do you know this?”
“Because I’ve already established a line in. It isn’t enough yet; she’s still fighting me. But each time she comes around, I get a little deeper and I learn a little more. And I think she is being protected.”
“Protected? By who? Preston Reed?”
“I think it’s Raziel.”
“What? You’re outta your fucking mind!” Troy shook his head dismissively. “No way Raziel would help her! He doesn’t have a helping bone in his body. And besides, it would end his career!”
“That may be, but I can feel him there. He may not be helping her…but he is hiding her. I can feel his energy all around her when she comes around. I think that’s why you can’t find her, because he took her first.”
Troy jumped out of the chair again. “But that fucker told me I had to find her! He outlined this whole plan right in front of those clowns at Infinium! Are you telling me that he’s had her all along?!”
Sigmund shrugged. “All I know is I feel a very strong control energy reeking from Ashlyn that matches Raziel. He’s hiding her with it. Probably trying to set you up, make you look like a failure so he looks good with The 8.”
“That asshole! I’m gonna kill him!” Troy stalked around the room.
“That’s good to know because I need your help.”
Troy stopped and stared down at him. “Why would I help you? Now that I know that Raze has truly betrayed Infinium, I can tell them and get Aislen myself. I’m sure The 8 will reward me for that.”
“News flash, Kellen: The 8 don’t reward people who don’t follow orders. Your killing me without their blessing only ensures your own destruction. And besides, once I have Ashlyn, The 8 won’t stand a chance. Wouldn’t you rather be on the winning team? And wouldn’t you like to show Raziel what a real winner looks like? You get the girl? He gets to die?”
Troy thought about it a moment. “You really think you can get Aislen?”
Sigmund glowered at him. “I know I can get her.”
“You’ll leave Raziel to me?”
Sigmund smiled. “Raziel is all yours.”
“Okay. Yeah, I’ll help.”
“Good. Now sit! We have a lot to accomplish tonight.”
BEAT
Psycho ~ Muse
Twenty-Two
Aislen reestablished Raziel’s old frequency cloak, and they made their way back into the house. When they were sure the house wasn’t going to sound the alarm, they made their way down the spiral staircase into the living room.
Aislen was struck again by the converted warehouse Raziel made his home in. The towering expanse of the living room vaulted three stories high. The raw landscape of original brick and rough, unrefined concrete was accented by exposed steel beams and pipes. Chic, masculine furnishings, rugs and pillows that added pops of color and made the space feel surprisingly inviting. Four enormous arched windows that lined the far wall and invited natural light in during the day now framed the twinkling skyline of the city.
Again, Aislen had to wonder about the person who’d created this stunning space.
Raziel picked up the bag of groceries and carried them into the kitchen, giving Aislen a chance to observe him surreptitiously. He moved with fluid confidence, setting out food on the counter and gathering cookware. No longer in the tailored, pitch black suit that amplified the sculptured power of his body and presence, he’d changed into a more casual black v-neck sweater and graphite slacks. The sinews of his stone-cut physique still revealed themselves through the relaxed sophistication of the fabric, creating a more riveting effect than the intimidating suit.
The new look coupled with the new frequency softened his edges, stirring something other than fear but equally unsettling.
His jet-black hair was loose and tousled, framing the chiseled structure of his face. Aislen visually traced the contours of his jaw and cheekbones. Now that the sheer terror of him had diminished somewhat, Aislen was struck by how impossibly gorgeous he really was.
Sensing her attention, Raziel glanced up. Glacial blue cut through the rakish fall of ink, piercing her with intensity. Her pulse leaped, and all the air sucked out of her lungs.
“Before we continue with our extracurricular activities this evening, I need nourishment.”
Flashes of what he meant by “extracurricular activities” bloomed in her mind. Whether they were her own imagination or actual memories from being in his old energy field, Aislen couldn’t tell. Flickers of skin and sweat, gasps and sighs, the couch, the floor, the shower, and twisted silk sheets bombarded her senses. Her heart raced, and she felt her cheeks burn. She pivoted away from him so that he couldn’t see the flush on her face.
“I like breakfast for dinner, so I’m making eggs.” Raziel’s voice had taken on its familiar edge for any audience that may be listening. “I don’t usually feed my playthings, but I’m feeling generous tonight. Do you want some?”
Aislen’s emotions stuttered. The idea of being his plaything rekindled the electric awareness in her body that she’d tamped down on the rooftop. It also lit a spark of anger. She really was just a plaything in all of this, wasn’t she? A toy caught in a game with all the players batting her this way and that.
Aislen! Raziel snapped subliminally. She jumped and turned back to him. His eyes narrowed. Say yes.
He held her in his gaze until she could find her voice.
“Um, yes please.”
Good girl. You can do this. He released his visual hold on her and reached for the knife block, sliding a massive cleaver out of its sheath. “I can make omelettes or a scramble.”
Your playthings?
I usually call them worse. How do you want your eggs?
Scrambled is fine.
Raze cocked his head to the side and waited.
“Scrambled please.”
Raziel began attacking the vegetables and Aislen made a mental note of gratitude that it wasn’t her he was chopping into slices.
Don’t take what I say personally. It isn’t about you. He telepathed without looking up from his task. “Part one of our evening was exceptional, by the way. I’m really looking forward to seeing what else you have in your repertoire later.”
Aislen’s heart caught in her throat. Even if what he was saying was purely for an audience, it felt personal in her body. Every nerve ending had come alive.
I don’t know what to say, she responded.
Do your best. He continued chopping.
Aislen closed her eyes and tried tapping into what the girls would say in Sigmund’s brothel. Cutting him off visually was immensely helpful. Looking at him while he talked that way was more than she could handle.
“I’m glad you enjoyed that. There’s definitely more where that came from.” She did her best to mimic the sultry purr of the girl who greeted Sigmund when he arrived. “Hopefully, tonight’s the night you let me taste you,” she threw in for good mea
sure because it sounded pretty dirty when Candy had said it.
The chopping stopped.
Aislen opened her eyes to see Raziel staring at her wide-eyed. An amused half-smile crept on his face, and he looked like he might actually laugh.
That bad? she asked.
Raze shook his head. No. That was pretty good. Just a bit surprising, that’s all. He went back to work finishing the vegetables.
“We’ll have to see about that,” he said out loud. “If you’re up to the challenge,” he added, glancing up at her, one eyebrow raised. He was fucking with her now, but the charge that was ever-present between them crackled. He set the knife down, brushed his hands off, then leaned on the counter and looked at her seriously. You don’t have to respond. They are used to there not being a whole lot of conversation in here.
Aislen swooned, partly with relief and partly from all the ideas of what took place here instead of conversation.
“Have a seat,” he said, eyeing the stools across the counter from him.
Aislen was reluctant to move any closer to him, not because she was afraid of what he would do to her; more like what she was afraid she was starting to want him to do. But she did as she was told.
Raze began cracking eggs into a bowl. Where’d you learn that line from anyway? It didn’t sound like you. I mean, I don’t know you really, but that was obviously not your style.
From the girls at Sigmund’s brothel, she responded. Where he experimented on Thomas.
Ahhhh, yes. Raze nodded. The CIA really liked the brothel theme. And Sigmund Lange did a lot of groundbreaking work there. Not just on Thomas Reed either.
Yeah, but I think Thomas was his favorite. Up to a point.
You mean the point where he impregnated your grandmother? Ha! Don’t be fooled. Lange knew exactly what he was doing there.
Aislen was shocked. What do you mean?
Raze whipped a fork through the eggs. Lange wasn’t a fool; in fact, he was a genius. And Thomas had a gift, probably way more natural than injury-induced. Lange needed more than one Thomas to build his empire. So he used his daughter as an incubator. Breeding another Thomas had a higher probability of success than finding others like Thomas. He learned that in Nazi Germany. If you want a superior world, you breed a superior race.
Time Walker: Episode 2 of The Walker Saga Page 15