by Bella Street
“Not Fiona—” Jared's eyes bulged as if he'd said too much.
Seffy's heart skipped a beat. “If not Fiona, then who?”
“You shouldn't hurt me,” he cried, his eyes fixed on the needle. “I let you live for months and months. We...I was supposed to kill you the moment I saw you, but I couldn't with Gareth always underfoot. Then when you hooked up with Trent, he barely left your side. But did she understand? No. She kept sending in others to do the job, jeopardizing the whole operation! She wanted to use a club when a scalpel was needed. But she didn't see it that way.”
“Who?”
He shook his head, his face waxen.
“Jared, whoever 'she' is, she's not your problem right now. I am.”
“No,” he bleated, his features pinched with fear. “You're going to kill me anyway, so there's no point in telling.”
Seffy looked at the shaft of the needle pressed into the back of his hand.
Licking his lips, Jared followed her gaze. “You already know the answer if you think about it hard enough.”
She jammed the plunger hard into his hand before yanking it out, then stepped away, tucking the syringe back into her pocket.
Jared screamed curses at her, his expression soaked with fear.
“Olga has an antidote, but you'd need to get it quick to avoid...well, the consequences of your poor decision-making skills.”
“Antidote?” He glared at her, his face turning first purple, then white. “Call her.”
“I need some information first,” she said in a flat voice. “Who is 'she?'”
“It's Verity, you bitch.”
Seffy took a step back, shocked beyond belief. “What? How?”
Her mind spun off in new, unfamiliar directions, causing his image to waver before her eyes. But logic failed to bring order out of chaos.
“How the hell do you think you got here? Call Olga!”
“I thought it was Fiona.” The bars of his cell grew hazy.
“All I know is that Verity knew about time-travel and sent some of us along to clean up the mess. Now call Olga!”
“What mess?”
“Olga!” he screamed.
Thoughts, suspicions, and half-remembered conversations ran together in a blur in Seffy's mind while astonishment kept anything from making sense.
She slowly came back to the present and stared at Jared clutching at the air through the bars just out of reach. She turned to head back the way she came.
“We had a deal!”
Seffy hesitated. “You killed my husband, do you really think I'd help you out?”
“You're a murderer!”
She stopped and twisted around. “No, you're the murderer. You kill the innocent. I just asked some questions.”
Jared threw his body against the bars, screaming like an animal. She pulled out the blood-filled syringe, regarded it for a moment, then tossed it into the cell.
Jared jerked away from it as it rolled to a stop near his feet.
“Is that the antidote?”
“Depends on what you're trying to cure.”
By the time Seffy got to the end of the hall, she heard him make a gargling sound.
She paused, her heart beating hard.
Had he poisoned himself with her blood after all? Or had the mere suggestion of being tainted caused him to have a heart attack or stroke?
After a strangled cry, she heard the sound of a body hitting the concrete floor, the sound of a metal cuff jangling against the bars.
Perhaps the Haz-Mat crew would figure it out. They enjoyed experimenting on people after all.
Seffy took several deep breaths then went to find Fiona.
Chapter Eight
Gareth groaned when someone knocked on the door. What now? Another death? Another earthquake?
Sighing at the convoluted figures on the paper from a stack of similar papers in front of him, he decided he needed a break regardless of whatever rotten news was almost certainly waiting for him on the other side of the door. Besides, it was hard to think when the entire compound rattled back and forth.
He pushed away from the chair and stood, rolling his shoulders to relieve the knot of tension down his back. The pain sharpened when he opened the door and saw Malone's grim expression.
“What do you know about Jared?” the man began without preamble.
Gareth raised his brows. “Uh, other than the fact that he was a tag-along loser friend of Trent's?”
“Do you know where they were keeping him?”
“Some place secure I hope.” He pulled in a sharp breath. “Wait a minute, don't tell me he's escaped. Where's Seffy?”
He pushed past Malone and swept his gaze up and down the hall.
“She's not in any danger.”
Gareth snorted. “Like I've never heard that before.”
“So you're telling me you don't know anything about Jared's death? You're a suspect, you know.”
He blinked, side-swiped by the news. “What?”
The ex-security agent sounded bored. “Jared was found dead in his cell.”
Gareth raised his hands. “Hey, I don't even know where they took the guy.”
“But you could've figured it out easily enough.”
“So?”
Malone sighed, looking more grizzled than ever.
What did Lani see in the man?
“Any chance the girls know something about this?”
Gareth sagged against the door jamb, feeling as disgruntled as Malone sounded. “I doubt it. Lani couldn't hurt a flea and Addison has been in her room all day because we've talked on and off.”
“So that leaves either the other girls—Cynthia and Eva—or Seffy. And the other girls were seen in the cafeteria during the time the event took place.”
Gareth stared at Malone for a dread-inducing moment. “Maybe Seffy has the most motive, but she's been so consumed by grief that I just can't imagine—”
“That's part of your problem. You've always underestimated her.”
Gareth wondered if the ground would ever stop shifting beneath his feet—earthquake or no. “Okay, what's this got to do with me?”
Malone turned away. “I'm just saying.”
Gareth blew out an angry breath. “Regardless of what you think of me, Seffy isn't capable of such a thing. How did the guy die anyway?”
“A bloody syringe was on the floor next to the cell. It will be a simple test to find out who's blood it is.”
Gareth stared, his certainty wavering. “But it's still circumstantial. How do they know the blood killed him? Maybe he had some kind of fit or...”
“Jared was a twenty-five year old in perfect health.”
“It's happened.”
Malone looked away, apparently tired of the conversation.
“So what happens next? You decide Seffy went on a murderous rampage, so what, will she be arrested? Restrained? I mean is anyone seriously sorry that Jared is dead?”
Malone growled something unintelligible, then stalked away.
As soon as the ex-guard went around the corner, Gareth hurried to Addison's room. She looked up from where she sat on the couch with her head in her hands.
He lanced her with a meaningful look. “Seffy's out of control.”
***
The hallways went past in a blur as her heart and mind foamed with despair and endless questions.
Verity?
How did she fit in?
The woman had been obsessed with tanning and Gareth.
In that order. How had she arrived in their West Hollywood lives? One day she was just there. Gareth introduced her to their group. Seffy had hated her on sight, her opinion driven by jealousy.
Had Verity's appearance been as fake as her rack? Her big hair? Her affection for Gareth?
Thinking of the woman who'd precipitated the unraveling of fast friendships made her blood simmer.
Seffy stumbled into a wall and had to slow down. She focused on putting one foot in front of t
he other. Olga wanted her angry, after all. And well, she was hell-bent now. Because the more she found out, the less that made sense.
Dizziness assailed her. Suddenly the floor tiles rushed up to meet her.
Seffy put out her hands and clumsily caught her fall, wrenching her wrists in the process. Every muscle in her body craved rest, but she swallowed back a surge of vomit and clambered to her feet.
She lost all sense of time as she trailed through the maze of hallways toward Fenn's residence. When she saw the guards, she knew she'd made it.
She pressed her cheek against the wall and tried to decide on a plan. Should she use the tried and true—threaten with her loogies of death? Or maybe she should just slice open her wrist and splatter blood helter-skelter? The red-on-beige color scheme could actually liven the place up.
Seffy licked her lips and forced her eyes to stay open. The guards were moving, stepping back from the door. Was Fenn coming out? Perfect. She had a bone to pick with him—or a soul to savage depending on the point of view.
But it wasn't Fenn who appeared. Fiona stepped into the hall and looked around. When she saw Seffy, her slanted eyes narrowed and she marched over.
“What the hell are you doing here?” she hissed. “Or maybe you don't fully understand the word 'quarantine.'”
Quarantine. Like that had ever stopped her. “Fiona, you look like hell. Hey, maybe we're twins.” Seffy emitted a weak laugh, then groped the wall in an effort to stay upright.
“I haven't been feeling well,” the diminutive tyrant said stiffly. “Now, get back to your room before I sic the guards on you. I have enough to deal with since you murdered Jared.”
“Not murder,” she said sleepily. “Justice.”
“Seffy, I'm warning you.”
Seffy twisted around then tilted her head back against the cool block wall for support. “Do you know what Jared told me before he died?”
Fiona's expression altered suddenly. “Not here,” she said through clamped teeth.
“He said he was working for Verity. Verity! Do you know who she is? She's in my home universe—she's my time homie.” Seffy giggled until the action made her dizzy.
A hand pinched her upper arm. “Shut up.”
“Hey, get off me,” Seffy said, trying to muster the energy to yank her arm away. “Like I need another bruise.”
“I don't know who or what you're talking about, so—”
“Then let's ask your junkie boyfriend—”
The grip on her arm deepened, making her wince in pain.
Suddenly spittle rained onto her face.
“You shut your little mouth, you stupid excuse for a human being!”
Seffy dragged her other arm over her face, wiping the moisture away. “At least I don't pretend to be strong when I'm weak. At least I don't keep making lame excuses for my failures.”
Fiona dropped her arm, her gaze glittering. “Fenn is more powerful than you could ever imagine. Do you really think I'd be with a weakling?”
“I want to talk to him about Verity.”
“You're not going anywhere near Fenn.”
“Why? Is it because he can't handle the truth?”
Suddenly a slap stung her cheek.
Seffy gasped, and galvanized by the unexpected pain, swung out at Fiona.
She hit empty air, then noticed her surroundings begin to tilt.
Something slammed into her head. It took her a moment to realize it was the floor.
“Get away from her!”
Seffy cracked open her eyes and saw the worried features of Fenn hovering over her. Was he concerned that she'd fallen?
“I said there's blood on the floor. Now stay back!”
Only too late did Seffy realize he was talking to Fiona.
***
“Okay, you have to take me seriously now.”
Olga looked up from filling out a medical chart in the compound clinic where Gareth had finally run her to ground.
“Serious about what?”
He approached the front desk, lowering his voice. “Seffy has been accused of murder and then she attacked Fiona. She's totally lost it.”
Gareth noticed a twitch near Olga's eye.
“I am aware of what occurred earlier today. In fact Seffy is resting here at the clinic for the time being.”
“She's here?” Gareth considered going around the desk and through the door down the hall, but the nurse's basilisk stare intimidated him. “She needs a procedure done, or some kind of drug therapy to help her deal with this.”
“Don't you think she's had enough drugs?”
“You know what I mean.”
Olga stared at him over her glasses until he wanted to squirm. “I'll look into it.”
“I just want what's best for Seffy.”
Her pale blue eyes seemed to look right through him. “Of course.”
Gareth had to be satisfied with that. Feeling her gaze on his back, he left the clinic and went back to his room. When he walked through the door, he felt weighed down with depression and aimless anger. Olga and the girls used to look up to him. What happened?
The only way he could redeem himself was to find a way back home.
***
“So tell me about this dream you've been having.”
The voice was so familiar but Seffy couldn't quite place it. She twisted her head a little—which brought a sharp pain—and saw Olga sitting in a wingback chair next to her, a pen poised above a pad in her hands. “Dream?”
The nurse looked intently over the tops of her glasses. Seffy noticed she wore a tweed blazer and matching skirt. Tweed? Since when? What happened to the traditional white uniform with shiny hose and white orthopedic shoes? And why am I stretched out on a green leather couch?
She glanced around the room and saw a statue of a black crow perched on a shallow shelf above her head. Its head was bent at a funny angle and its eyes appeared to be looking right at her. Am I a worm?
“There is a theme you speak of—endless corridors and doors that open to the unknown.”
Seffy frowned, a memory of something like that tugging on the edges of her consciousness. “Is it a dream or is it real?”
Olga chuckled. “What is reality?”
“I used to know,” she said, defeated. Seffy closed her eyes, distracted by the horrendous throbbing on the back of her head.
“Well, young lady, I think it's clear you're seriously disturbed, bordering on psychosis in fact.”
“What?” Seffy tried to sit up in alarm, but white hot pain sliced through her cranium, forcing her still.
“All this nonsense you've been babbling about. It's simply a construct—your way of dealing with the fact that you were abandoned as a child. Then Gareth played the part of your replacement father—which is why that relationship was a disaster. And after he'd served his purpose, you moved on to Trent, deceiving yourself that it was true love. God, you're pathetic.”
“Olga,” she pleaded, touching the back of her head. She felt moisture and pulled her hand away. Her fingers were shiny with bright red blood.
That's when Seffy realized the couch cushions were soaked beneath her.
Soaked red.
Suddenly the crow came to life, flapped its wings, and uttered a harsh caw.
Seffy gulped and lurched forward, her heart pounding out a frantic rhythm.
She felt a hand push at her shoulder. Olga hovered over her, hushing her. Seffy stared at her, struggling to make sense of what she was seeing. “Where's your tweed?”
The nurse frowned. “I think you had a bad dream. Just lay back and relax.”
Seffy glanced up, but instead of a bird, she saw a blood pressure cuff attached to the wall. On the other side was a tray filled with metal instruments and a couple of syringes. Then she realized she was in a hospital bed instead of on a couch.
It had been a dream. Slowly, her muscles relaxed, and she released a steadying breath. God, only I would be relieved to be in a hospital instead of an of
fice. “Olga, am I psychotic?”
The nurse smoothed out the blankets on the bed, appearing to consider the question. “I couldn't say. Only a psychiatrist could make such a diagnosis.”
“Well, you have an opinion.”
Olga firmed her lips. “I think you need to worry about what happened with Jared.”
“What, did he pee himself?”
“He's dead.”
Seffy blinked. So what Fiona said was true. It had sounded bad in the hall when she'd left, but she didn't think he actually died. Maybe he finished himself off with the phlebotic cocktail she'd left behind, the coward.
Screw Jared. She struggled to sit up, but her head throbbed like hell. “What happened to me?”
“Apparently you got into a scuffle with Fiona, then you fell and hit your head on the floor. You must've fallen hard because you cut it open pretty good.”
“The hell-bitch probably craned me with a tire iron when no one was looking.”
The nurse sighed, resting her hand on the bed rails. “Fiona is not your enemy.”
“Then who is? Who do I fight?”
“You need to put all your energy into getting better.”
“Why? Tell me the intrinsic value of 'getting better.'”
“You're becoming agitated. If you keep this up, I'll be forced to give you a sedative.”
“While you're at it, why don't you get a couple of metal spikes and ram them into my skull? I'm sure that'll calm me right down.”
Olga grimaced as if the idea was distasteful. Seffy sagged against the mattress. “I have to get out of here. I can't handle this rage and despair.”
“Why do you feel rage?”
Seffy stared at the nurse. “Are you joking? You of anyone know what I've gone through here. Maybe I need to off someone else. It was almost therapeutic.”
“Seffy, how can you joke about such a thing when you apparently killed another human being?”
This time Seffy ignored her thumping skull and heaved into a sitting position. “I don't remember you being this offended when Jared killed Trent.”