Jivaja (Soul Cavern Series Book 1)

by Venessa Giunta

  He squatted beside her and brushed the tip of his finger against her chin, light as a moth's wings. The shiver that traveled along her spine wasn't unpleasant. She didn’t like that. She looked into his sea-blue eyes.

  “I'm going to take you to the bed.” He spoke slowly, gently. “I don't want to have to knock you out to do it, but I will if I have to. Do you understand me, Mecca?”

  She nodded once. Still groggy but coming around, she doubted whether his small frame could support her weight. She could still try to get him down and get his key while he struggled to lift her. When he slid his arms under her and she was close enough to reach out and touch his face, however, she didn't have the will to send her energy into him.

  And he lifted her without a second of hesitation or difficulty.

  Later, Will had returned and replaced the needle in her hand before stepping out for a moment. When he came back this time, he had a small brush and dustpan, along with a hand-held vacuum. He began cleaning up the broken remains of the lunch plate without asking what had happened. Claude had left without telling him anything and Mecca hadn't spoken a single word to Claude since he'd returned her to her bondage on the bed.

  She lay there under the crushing weight of her captivity. Of her failure.

  “Why are they keeping me here?” Mecca asked, now that they were alone.

  “I think you know the answer to that.”

  “They want to know how Hayden died.”

  “Yes.”

  “But why keep me here, drugged? Why all the reading?” Mecca hated the soft whine that crept into her voice. “Why not just get everything over with?”

  Will dumped the contents of the dustpan into a small trash can. The ceramic clacked as it tumbled. Moving from his crouched position, he sat back on the floor and looked up at her. A small crease developed between his eyebrows as he watched her. When he finally spoke, his voice was gentle and quiet.

  “I can't pretend to know what Emilia is thinking. I have been with her for a long time though, and I do know that everything she does, she does for a reason. She always has a plan of action. She is keeping you here, giving you the research on your father—”

  “Those are not about my father!” Mecca's face burned, both with her anger, but also with embarrassment and inevitability. She didn't want the papers to be about her dad.

  Will lowered his head, his eyes hidden by a wave of his nut-brown hair. Then he looked up at her again. “Very well. She is keeping you here, giving you those papers to read, because she believes it will give her the results she wants.”

  “What results?”

  “That, I don't know.” He moved forward, into a crouch again, and picked up the brush and dustpan. He swept the smaller pieces and dumped them into the trash can.

  “So why are they drugging me? It’s not like I can even get away from this damn bed.” She pulled hard on her cuffs. The chains rattled against the metal side rails.

  “Well, obviously that’s not true.” He gave her a pointed look and held up the dustpan. Then he said, “It’s the easiest way to keep you quiet.” A wry smile lit his face. “Emilia will be in later. You may wish to ask your questions then.”

  Mecca leaned back against her pillow and closed her eyes. The motorized suction of the vacuum turned on, and she listened to its whirring as Will ran it over the carpet near the foot of her bed.

  As far as she could tell, all their research came as a result of the original information she’d printed out at the library but never read. They had much more information. The articles were so damning. It was like someone had wrapped a hand around her heart and squeezed the life out.

  Growing up, he’d always told her the Gift had passed him over. His father and brother both had it. Sometimes it didn’t manifest in every child, he’d said, but every child could be a carrier. That’s how Mecca got the Gift. So he said.

  She’d never doubted his word. Not ever. But now… There was no other explanation for the deaths of his wives. The doctors would never know. Neither would the families.

  But she knew.

  He’d lied to her. Her heart broke again with the betrayal.

  And her belly roiled. Mecca didn’t want to believe the awful stories. But those photos — she couldn’t discount them. His face. He’d been married to those women who’d died.

  Been murdered.

  She shuddered.

  Even worse was having the crushing truth handed to her by these people — these things. Will had called them Visci, but Mecca didn't know what that meant. Not really.

  The idea that they witness her betrayal made Mecca’s skin crawl. It made her angry and that anger mingled with the pain of her father’s deceit. The whole mess was like a bubbling, rotten stew threatening to spill over the edges.

  In her mind, she pushed around the haunting sentence from her mother’s file. Although Teresa Trenow’s illness cannot be directly attributed to David Trenow, nor can the woman’s death be positively attributed to the cancer itself. A tear squeezed from her closed eye and slipped down her cheek.

  But it wasn’t him, was it? They couldn’t know that.

  Mecca wanted to shove the whole thing from her head and forget she’d ever read any of it, ever even entertained what she knew felt more and more true yet didn’t want to be true. But the faces of six murdered women weighed in on the other side, and their deaths could not be brushed away.

  Was everything he’d ever told her a lie? Perhaps her mom had never been sick at all. Maybe that was how he started it every time. Perhaps, if it hadn’t been for her father, Mom would have gotten to see Mecca go on her first date, to her first prom. Perhaps Mom would have been around to see her graduate.

  Maybe I wouldn’t have fallen asleep that afternoon. Maybe it wouldn’t have mattered if I had.

  Mecca couldn’t really shift gears away from herself. Her own guilt held strong, even though her rational mind understood the evidence she was looking at.

  A sob crashed through her, but she strangled it behind pursed lips. Pressing her eyes tightly shut, she resolved not to let any of her fear and betrayal show. She had no idea how she would get out of here, but she wouldn’t be doing it by letting them see her hurt any more.

  She sucked in a soft, ragged breath and released it quietly through her mouth. She opened her eyes. Will sat in the chair nearby, the brush, dustpan and vacuum in a small pile near the door.

  “Will Emilia be here when I wake up?”

  Will looked up from the clipboard on his lap and nodded. “She may not actually be right here, but she’ll be down soon after.”

  “They’re afraid of me, aren’t they? They’ve got me chained up, and they’re afraid to let me stay awake for any extended amount of time.”

  “I don’t think they’re so much afraid of you as they’re not sure what to do with you. You’re an unknown, and so carry a certain amount of risk. I don’t think caution should be equated to fear.”

  “Have you done this before?”

  “Done what?”

  “Guarded someone they kidnapped.”

  “No,” Will said. “They don’t often take the trouble to kidnap people.”

  “They're not worried that I'm going to attack you and escape?

  “Well, you had your hand on me once, yes? There was your chance, and you didn’t take it. She guessed you wouldn’t.” He watched Mecca for a moment, but she couldn't read his eyes. Then he said, “Once upon a time, I was a medic. Emilia’s made sure I kept up with the times. I’m probably the best qualified to deal with a medical emergency, should one arise.”

  “A medic? Like a paramedic?”

  The metallic ring of the timer sounded, and Will stood, setting aside the clipboard. “Not the sort you think of today.”

  She didn't understand what he meant. She watched him fill a syringe with liquid. She didn't say anything as he slid the needle into the butterfly portal and depressed the plunger.

  As the weight of sleep crept into the edges of Mecca’s co
nsciousness, she said, “I'd like to know more sometime.”

  His voice, sounding thick in her ears, replied, “Perhaps sometime.”

  Chapter Nine: David

  David stared at the phone in his hand. Relief coursed through him like a tidal wave. She was alive, at least, and she sounded okay. He had no idea where she was or what they were doing with her, but she was alive.

  The reality of the situation hit him full force. The old urge to cut and run pinged him.

  I’m not that man anymore.

  When he had Mecca safely home, he'd worry about whether to run. He could take her with him if he needed to.

  The silence of the office seemed to push on him now, oppressive and stifling. He pulled in a long breath, filling his lungs until his chest burned fire. As he let the air out, he looked around to see whether he’d missed anything. It occurred to him that Emilia Laos probably knew where he'd phoned from. He shouldn't stay much longer.

  The computer under the desk interested him. He reached down and pulled the case onto the top of the desk. When he tugged, the cords and cables came away like some fantastic sea creature, all tentacles. He tossed them aside and popped the case open. In the mishmash of electronics that made up the gut of the thing, he found what he was looking for. David disconnected the hard drive with care and then closed the case and shoved the computer under the desk again.

  One last look around and he took off, slipping out the broken window. He kept his eyes peeled and made his way back to the van with the hard drive tucked under his jacket. Though it looked safe enough, he circled the van completely and peered inside each window. It looked as empty as he’d left it. When he was finally inside with the doors locked, he laid the hard drive on the seat beside him and headed to the public library.

  He found a twenty minute wait for the computers with net access. A long twenty minutes. Finally, a machine in the back came available. He signed on as Guest and found the website he wanted right away. He logged onto the site as Nereus and waited for an anxious five minutes before she logged on at their usual time.

  Nereus: You busy?

  Solaris: Nah. What's up?

  Nereus: Things have been crazy. I need a favor.

  Solaris: Shoot.

  Nereus: I have something I need to get into, but I don’t have access to my equipment.

  Solaris: Why don't you have your stuff?

  Nereus: I can't go home right now.

  Solaris: Why not?

  Nereus: I just can't. Will you help me?

  David’s stomach knotted as he waited for the reply. He hated bringing Sara into this. They'd never even met face to face, but he didn’t know where else to turn. He wished he could just get back to his house; he had what he needed there. But they must have his house under surveillance. That’s what David would do.

  Solaris: Okay. There’s a coffee shop down in Little Five. Brew-haha. It's right next to the pizza place on Moreland.

  Nereus: I’ll find it.

  Solaris: Give me about an hour.

  Little Five Points was more crowded at mid-morning than he’d expected. He parked behind the plaza shops in the back lot pocked with holes. The bumps made the van creak and shake.

  This is where Mecca was attacked.

  He pushed the thought away. He didn't want to waste energy on it now. He parked, tucked the hard drive into his waistband, locked the van and slid the key into his pocket.

  Sunshine warmed him as he made his way toward the tiny hole in the wall shop. Street sellers and musicians had already begun setting up in the small cobblestone plaza. A tall, whippet-thin man with deeply ebony skin and thick Rasta braids gave him a white-toothed smile and a nod. David inclined his head in return. His weariness weighed on him, and he realized how little sleep he’d gotten. There probably wasn’t a drop of adrenaline anywhere in his system.

  He sidestepped into the shadowy entrance of the apartments above the shops. He closed his eyes, leaned back, and let his spirit reach out into the air above the moving crowds.

  The energy crackled as people ambled and rushed, talked and laughed, or simply sat and watched others in their daily meanderings. When he opened his energy, his soul, to it, the familiar tapestry super-imposed itself on reality, the buildings across the street playing a backdrop behind the gorgeous layer.

  Colorful and vibrant, like the greatest masterpiece, that collective life energy woven into a work of art. David had always found the swirl of colors mesmerizing. Blues, reds, oranges, every color of the rainbow and more, all infused through with the richest golden light.

  He picked at the tapestry above, snagging a thread and pulling it to him. When he embraced the thread with his own life’s fabric, it funneled energy down to him, filling him, making his entire body prickle. Faint pain mixed with the energy, like the bristly feel of a sharp metal brush against skin. He released that thread and chose another.

  When he knew he couldn’t take more, he slit the thread and sent it back to the invisible cover above. The breath he took in the next moment filled his lungs in an electrifying rush, and the hairs on his body rose, his limbs tingling. When he exhaled, muscles that he didn't know were tense unknotted and relaxed.

  His stomach growled.

  The rich smell of brewed coffee enveloped him as he stepped back into the sunlight. In front of the cafe, people sat at rickety metal tables, but they didn’t seem to mind. Many looked to be on the tail end of an all-nighter, bringing cups to pierced lips and drinking deeply.

  Inside, ceiling fans whirled overhead to combat the heat of the coffee machines and steamers. Behind the counter were two women who looked to be complete opposites. The younger, a teenager, had black hair tipped in electric blue, dark black eyeliner, and silver pierced through lobes, nostrils, brows, lips, and one dimpled cheek. Her colleague wore her graying auburn hair pulled back in a loose ponytail, curly wisps framing a face dotted with pale brown freckles. The goth and the earth mother, working side by side.

  “What can I get for you?” the earth mother asked.

  “Large black coffee.” He pointed to the glass display case between them. The cloudy windows showed their age, but on the inside, muffins, doughnuts, and pastries teetered in high piles on clean stoneware plates. “Those cheese Danish look good. Give me one of them as well, please.”

  She hummed along with the flute music being piped through the place as she placed the Danish on a brightly decorated ceramic plate and then filled a large paper cup with steaming coffee. She rang him up on an old fashioned register. It clanged in an oddly comforting way.

  “Four twenty five, please.”

  He handed over a twenty from the roll Jim had given him. “You’ve got pretty low prices.”

  She smiled indulgently as she counted his change back. “Just holler if you need a refill.”

  He nodded his thanks, took his coffee and Danish and turned to find a place to sit. Small round tables with mismatched chairs packed the tiny dining area, and a beautiful mural graced the back wall. Fashioned in the shape of a giant window, it looked out over a bright green meadow edged with majestic oak trees. The painted sun was perpetually setting, throwing rays of ocher and deep lavender across the sky.

  “Hey.” A quiet female voice spoke from behind him. “Grab the back corner table and I’ll be there in a second.” David looked over his shoulder at a young woman of about twenty who carried a worn nylon satchel over one shoulder. The girl went to the counter and spoke with the earth mother. “Hey, Maggie! How’s the brew today?”

  David made his way to the corner and dropped into a chair, turning so he could observe the room. And the girl. The energy from his tapestry pull still tingled along his nerves, like adrenaline in his blood. It made him a little edgy, but it was better than the bone-tired exhaustion that he knew was waiting in the wings to overtake him. He looked toward the counter.

  Sara stood just over five feet with short, tightly curled black hair, a pale complexion and freckles along her nose. She approached, a lar
ge ceramic cup in her hand. She blew on the foam riding the surface and gave him a small smile.

  She looked exactly like her grandmother, Susan Harrington. No doubt at all. A pang of regret echoed through him.

  She settled in the chair to his right.

  “How did you know who I was?” he asked.

  “I was outside watching you. You look just like the picture on Mom’s dresser. A little more grey, maybe, but....” She waggled fingers at the top of his head and then shrugged with a grin.

  “Your mom has a picture of me on her dresser?” He hadn’t expected that. At all. Some weird mix of happiness at that, guilt, and the ever-present regret coursed through him.

  Sara nodded and slipped the satchel from her shoulder. “Yep, in a double frame. Your pic on one side. Gran’s on the other. You don’t look grandfather-aged though.”

  “Yes, well, I was young when we got married. Your mom was about thirteen.” David's face grew hot. This is a bad idea.

  “My mom, a teenager.” Sara laughed, then took a sip of her coffee and licked the foam off her upper lip. On an older woman, it would have been seductive. On Sara, it simply looked practical. “Okay, so what is it you need?”

  David looked around and then pulled the hard drive from beneath his jacket. He set it on the tabletop. “It’s a Windows OS, but I couldn’t get in manually. And I have no idea what security I’ll find once I get inside.”

  “We’ll have to go to my place. We can hook it up to my machine there.”

  David’s mind spun. Too close. He was getting her too involved. “Can’t we use your laptop?”

  “No, what I need is at the house. Come on.” She slid the hard drive into her bag.

  “All right. But we have to hurry.”

  She nodded and stood, grabbed her coffee, and then slung her satchel over her shoulder. “Let’s go then.” She zigzagged around chairs toward the door, raising a hand to Maggie, who smiled at her as a mother would. “Be back later, Mags!” She hefted her mug. “I’ll bring this back.”