by Bella Street
He'd spent the last two days watching her, as well as resting. If he dared move, his ribcage punished him with breathtaking pain.
Seffy had already had Olga in to fuss over him. She'd used butterfly bandages on his face and declared no internal injuries; just a few cracked ribs.
The rest of the time, Seffy hovered nearby, her expression distressed. His assertions that he was fine didn't seem to help, so he allowed her to take care of him, reminding himself that they were together, regardless of the crappy circumstances.
He reached out and took her hand when she gave up on her lunch and approached the bed. “Come sit by me for a minute.”
Seffy sank onto the mattress next to him. He regarded her wan face. “Sef, you have to let this go. I told you it's over.”
“I've been thinking.” She raised her eyes to him, the lines of fatigue in her face growing deeper.
“What?”
She sighed. “I know obsessing about what changed with Gareth won't do any good in the end, but I've come to realize this mess started before you were in the picture. It's about me more than you.” She snorted. “I guess he didn't feel like he could come after me with a baseball bat. Looks like he has some scruples after all.”
Trent heard the bitterness in her voice and wished he knew of some way to comfort her.
“He liked me better when I was someone else—when I was the blonde, blue-eyed aspiring actress. After we got to the compound and I became old Seffy with brown eyes and brown hair, it reminded him too much of who I was so long ago—the girl he'd ultimately failed to protect, instead of the angel he wanted to be...perfect.” She looked at him. “Does that make sense?”
“He used to call you an angel, too?”
She nodded. “I think he always regretted finding out I was already fallen.”
“Seffy, what happened to you wasn't by your choice.”
“Some of it was, Trent. There were times I was lonely, times I was desperate. I did some really dumb things along the way even when I knew better.”
He frowned. “Who hasn't? I don't think Gareth has made only perfect choices.”
“I never was an angel,” Seffy said as if she hadn't heard him. “I'm just a girl. That's all.”
Trent tugged her down next to him, ignoring the pain as she carefully settled her head against his shoulder and curled up close to him. He rested his cheek against her hair, knowing he was falling short of what she needed him to be right now. “Just for the record,” he said softly, “your hair isn't brown. I keep telling you it's the color of aged Irish whiskey. Single malt, in fact.”
Seffy tilted her head up and looked at him with a sad smile. “Would you love me if my hair was just brown?”
“Yep. Because you aren't just any girl. You're my girl.”
Her gaze seemed to search his for affirmation. Trent wished he knew how to give it. How could he convince her that what they had was more than an isolationist fling? How could he take care of her the way she deserved?
He needed to prove he wouldn't turn on her the way the others had—that he'd always be on her side. Period.
As he leaned down to kiss her, he suddenly realized what needed to be done.
***
Trent was asleep.
Seffy noticed the deep purple bruising on his face was now mixed with green.
How did she know Gareth wasn't hiding somewhere with a gun this time instead of a baseball bat? While she knew Trent would insist he could handle himself, she also couldn't let Gareth act with such impunity.
She sifted through her limited options, then decided on a course of action.
Steeling her nerves, she left her room and went to Gareth's. There was no answer to her knock, so she went to Lani's and walked in the door.
Inside she found the girls on the bed, talking. They looked up at her entrance.
Lani jumped off the bed. “Sef, what happened? Something happened. Gareth is different.”
Addison stood, her green eyes full of disbelief. “It's true? You're with Trent?”
Seffy hadn't come to defend herself, so she just nodded.
“So you hooked up with a bottom feeder because you're, what? Desperate? Stupid?”
“Addy,” Lani pleaded. “Don't.”
Seffy swallowed. “I just came by to ask if you knew where Gareth was.”
Suddenly Addison's eyes widened, fixated on a point behind her.
“Gareth's right here.”
Seffy twisted around at the sound of his voice and watched him enter the room. His expression wasn't arrogant as she expected, but devoid of emotion.
His heart-breaking good looks no longer held its usual sway. She glanced at his empty hands. “Where's the baseball bat?”
Lani gasped behind her while Gareth's cheeks darkened.
Seffy clenched her fists. “The only reason I'm here is to tell you to stay away from me and Trent.”
“Well, I can agree to the second part.”
“Gareth, if you feel anything for me, please do what I say and leave us alone.”
He looked at her from under lowered brows. “It's because of what I do feel for you, Seffy. It's only a matter of time before Trent lets you down. I'll be here, like always, to pick up all your little broken pieces.”
Seffy heard sniffling behind her.
She knew she couldn't effectively threaten him—she didn't have the physical power to stop him from anything. “I'm not a little girl anymore,” she said quietly. “I grew up. Maybe to you it's been an ugly, messed-up process, but there it is. I am who I turned out to be. I'm sorry it's not what you envisioned.”
He stared at her for a long moment. “And Trent's 'okay' with it.”
“Obviously.”
“Does he even know who you really are?” Addison asked.
Half-turning, Seffy glanced at the redhead.
“Remember it was your idea for us to change our names and keep our past a secret,” Addison said. “How would he feel about you if he knew the truth?” She cocked a brow. “Oh, wait a minute. I'm talking about Trent here. Doesn't sound like he can be all that picky.”
Seffy bit back a sigh. “Addy, I don't know why you're so bitter, but it just can't be good for you.”
Her face twisted. “And yet you're the one sleeping with Trent.”
“How does this affect any of you?” Seffy asked, struggling to keep a grip on her anger.
“Sef,” Gareth said in a low voice, “Addy's right. We're not trying to stand in your way, but think about it. He's not a good guy.”
A sliver of her heard what they were saying, understood what they were saying, and maybe they were right. Of course they didn't know about the months she and Trent had spent together—back when he was the only one who would. “He's changed.”
“Just like your excuse, Trent is a cliché.” Gareth tightened his jaw. “You'll come back to us after he's done with you.”
“No, I won't be coming back. You're the one who's burned that bridge. Not me.” Seffy stepped around him, and without looking back at the girls, left the room.
As she strode down the halls, she blinked back hot tears. It had probably been pointless to go—nothing had changed—but she'd gone—she tried. For whatever it was worth.
Instead of heading back to her room, Seffy walked in the direction of where Fenn resided—quarantine be damned. Besides, they no longer posted guards near her room. It'd been too easy for her to get around them.
She hadn't planned on anything to say to Fenn, she just needed to see him—to say something—to use more pointless words that would change nothing in the long run.
It was just the way things went at the compound.
The halls were mostly empty, but when a resident did appear, they must've recognized her. Seffy rolled her eyes when they dove back into their rooms or hustled away in the other direction, their features twisted by fear.
After walking what felt like a mile, she rounded the corner and saw three guards outside of Fenn's residence. They a
lso recognized her. One of them lifted his walkie to his mouth.
“The Contaminant is in the west concourse—”
Before he could continue, Seffy strode up, grabbed the radio, and smashed it onto the floor. The other guards edged away, pointing their guns at her.
She knew they were terrified of her. Using their guns might mean blood splatter. Blood spatter that could land on them, infect them, even kill them, if Olga was to be believed.
“Tell him I'm here!”
A different guard spoke into his radio. A moment later, she received clearance, much to his consternation. They stood back to allow her in, fingering their triggers, revulsion stamped on their faces.
Seffy walked through the gloomy anteroom and straight into the living room where she found Fenn standing next to the couch.
Fiona sat against the cushions of the large leather sectional, looking up at her with a bored expression.
Amidst the shag white carpeting, towering greenery, and 60s furnishings, the strange couple looked liked dated models from a retro Sears and Roebuck catalog spread.
“You know, you can't just go around barging into people's residences,” Fiona said, obviously having awoken on the wrong side of the rock. “There are protocols in place, appointments, schedules—”
Fenn touched his girlfriend's shoulder and gave a quick shake of his head.
Seffy stared at the compound leader, at his dark hair and startling blue eyes. He looked amazingly fit in a charcoal gray shirt and black slacks. “Do you even have leukemia? Or is that just another pretense you're putting forward?”
Fiona jumped up, her dark eyes flashing. “You little bitch—”
“Fiona, would you give us a few moments, please?”
The petite tyrant sneered at her, but walked to the hall leading to the bedrooms. A moment later, a door slammed.
Seffy tilted her head. “You know, I'm getting the feeling she doesn't like me.”
Fenn sighed and motioned to the opposite black leather couch. “So you wanted to know about my leukemia?”
She sank onto the cushions, her bravado wavering. That wasn't what she'd meant to ask. It had just been a deep suspicion that bubbled up. “I used to work at an oncology clinic. Even if I was just the receptionist, I can still tell you don't have the signs.”
“Signs?” he asked.
“Chemotherapy, radiation. Patients lose their hair at the very least.”
Fenn walked into the kitchen and began rifling through a drawer. When he came back, he held a photo packet. He tossed it onto the coffee table in front of her and sat down on the opposite couch.
Seffy glanced at the photographs spilling out. Several showed Fenn bald and hooked up to an I.V. drip. Others documented the regrowth of his hair. All had little glowy yellow dates marked in the corner. She glanced up at him, reluctantly convinced.
“The treatments were unsuccessful. The disease was unaffected.”
“Hence the heroin use?”
He nodded slowly. “Initially for the pain—and easy to go back to since I'd been addicted before.”
A double-ex-addict? Chalk up one more bizarre factoid for Fugere. “You don't look like you're in pain now. Or are you back on the smack? Hey, they say three times is a charm.”
A pained look crossed Fenn's handsome features. “I'm clean, Seffy. And I can't explain how I'm standing here now. My physicians have been charting my progress—for me it was actually more of a regression—and I noticed I started to improve on my own.”
She shook her head. “You don't get better from leukemia all by yourself.”
“Well, that was a positive spin, I admit. Let's just say I'm no longer regressing. For me, that's an improvement.”
“Where are you on the bone marrow option?”
Fenn linked his hands together. “It's a no go.”
Seffy felt her jaw slacken. “What? Didn't we bring back the right information?” She thought of the tangential trip she and Trent had taken to the future to get medicine —a trip that nearly cost them their lives. Their current lives anyway. The tangent ones were already dead.
“You and Trent did the best you could, but I didn't realize what an intricate procedure it is. We can't fabricate the technology or equipment to make it happen. The procedure is simply too advanced for us to attempt.”
“And yet you successfully attempted an ultra-rapid detox, which is also a future treatment.” Seffy still didn't know how he'd been aware of that procedure.
He smiled slightly. “One requires medication and an I.V. drip, the other highly advanced equipment that won't be invented for some time.”
“So what, you're terminal?” She regretted her harsh tone, but sympathy for Fenn and his crazy girlfriend was in short supply at the moment.
“We're all terminal in one way or another, symbolically speaking.”
Seffy stood up, out of patience. “I'm not here to talk symbolism with you.”
“So why did you come?”
“I want you to let me and Trent leave the compound.”
Fenn leaned back against the couch cushions, his eyes flickering with something she couldn't identify.
She compressed her lips. “No more scary monster stories—”
“They're not stories—something is out there, killing livestock, killing people. And it's getting closer to the compound.”
“And I don't want to hear about any more time-travel glitches, no more helicopters to bring us back...no more excuses.”
He regarded her with his disturbing blue eyes. “Where would you go?”
This was the part that infuriated her, using that calm tone and giving the tantalizing impression that leaving was actually an option. “What state are we closest to? Or are we near Canada?”
Fenn remained silent, making Seffy clench her fists.
He sighed. “I have to admit there's a part of me that's hurt you want to leave. We've really tried to make your time here—”
“God, Fenn, you can't be serious. I've been kidnapped, tortured, experimented on...killed. I'd hate to know what you consider five star treatment.”
“Okay, Seffy, you want the truth?”
“Yeppers.”
He grimaced at her sarcasm. “The truth is you can't leave.”
She stared at him, her heart pounding hard. “The compound? 1980? This room?”
“Technically, the time-travel route could still be open. We've been having new equipment drop-shipped by air from Billings, but it will take some time to reestablish the data and figure out what went wrong last time.”
Her fingers went to the pink rhinestone J just under her shirt. A superstitious part of her wondered if it was the key to getting back home. When she realized Fenn's gaze had followed the path of her fingers, she dropped her hand.
Seffy returned to the last thing he said, then wanted to ask how the compound could afford all new computer equipment without an obvious source of income, but decided this wasn't the time to inquire about economic expenditures. “So leaving the compound isn't an option because...?”
“You've proven that you can drive quite some distance, but had you and your friends continued, you would've reached a point where you could go no farther.”
She tried to figure out what he meant. “Does it have anything to do with the sky? We noticed that the pink seems to go on and on.”
“Yes. The irradiated film over the sky is spreading, which we believe is causing instability to the time-space continuum.”
Seffy stifled a groan.
“We think the spreading is from a breakdown of the integrity of the fabric of time, if you will, but it's also acting like an impermeable net.”
“Okay, how are you getting things shipped from outside the pink zone? Unless Big Sky country over Billings is no longer blue?”
“Our theory is that it only affects those who are in the wrong time. It's there to stop you and your friends from going too far from the point of arrival.”
This time Seffy did groan. “Th
at's ridiculous! You have yet another convenient theory to keep us here. It's not the cotton candy sky, it's you!”
“The only time the pink has spread is when you've left. It follows you.”
“Well, what if the atmosphere spreads north of the Canadian border. Can Trent and I go there and live in this impermeable net on the North side?”
“I don't believe it would go that far. It must have a finite radius.”
She put her hands on her hips. “So let us test it out.”
“You have, and every time, there's more instability and the instability has brought dangers.”
“Like what? The way I see it, the only danger has come from the compound itself!”
“The people who tried to assassinate you—”
“You mean your people—the organic gardening compound folk?”
“No,” he said tonelessly, “the ones who followed you from the future—that came through the 'tear' I'm talking about. Right now, we're able to intercept them near your entry point—and we've captured at least a dozen this way—but by definition, if you keep stretching the net further and further, more tears will result, making it harder to stop permeation.”
“So which is it? Permeable or impermeable?”
“Depends on if you're coming or going.”
Seffy dropped her head in her hand. “God, you sound like Eugene.” She blew out a breath. “So if I try to leave, more bad guys show up, and if anyone gets hurt, it's my fault.”
Fenn leaned forward. “It's more like suicide. They're after you.”
She met his look with a hard one of her own. “They've already been successful once.”
A pained looked crossed his face.
As if he cared.
“Why are they after me?” When he hesitated, she sucked in a breath. “I swear to God, Fenn, if you know and don't tell me—”
“I don't know, Seffy. I don't know why anyone would ever want to hurt you.”
The odd tone in his voice sent a smattering of chills over her body. She touched the back of the couch for support, struggling to calm her racing thoughts. “So,” she said quietly, “the bottom line is that we can't leave.”