Shining Star nodded — an American-Earth nod, which he had been practicing over the past year, as opposed to the Taalu’s head-bobble — and looked to Steve. “Vortex?”
Steve shrugged. “I guess I’m ready.” He nodded to each in turn, “Lieutenant Takayasu. Shockwave. Powerhouse. Lieutenant Gant.”
Each of the PCA field agents and assets nodded back. Steve stepped over in front of Shining Star, facing the hole in the warehouse wall. Shining Star slipped his hands under Steve’s armpits; Steve had felt awkward at first with this arrangement, but he had gotten over it since — Shining Star could fly (which was still so awesome!), but he could not, so it was what it was.
Shining Star’s aura spread around his slender alien body, remaining the dimmest down his forearms to his hands where he was touching Steve, and the two PCA independent consultants took to the air.
As they soared out of the warehouse and into the late-afternoon sky, Steve reassured himself that Michael Takayasu had been right, that today was a good win.
So why did he still have this nagging feeling that something was ... off?
MIA
Mia Singh stood at the entrance of her apartment, the door open, the knob under her trembling hand.
She should go inside. She knew this. She should go inside, sit down, and breathe. Maybe call her mom. Or maybe go into the bathroom and throw up, then have a good cry, a big ugly cry. Something. Anything.
A release. She needed a release.
Without making any conscious decision, Mia closed the door again and re-locked it. Returning to the stairs, she clomped down to the ground level, ignoring a neighbor who tried to say hello to her, squeezing her spare key so hard it dug into her palm.
Where was she going? She had no idea.
Except she did.
It wasn’t shock she was dealing with ... or maybe it was? She wasn’t sure. The adrenaline that refused to ease up was driven not just by fear, and the aftermath of her brush with ... with whatever fate those “angels” had planned for her. No, it was also powered by anger, a sense of betrayal, of a twisted Judas Kiss that was as frustrating as it was vague, and she needed to do something about it.
So yeah, deep down, she knew precisely where she was going.
She didn’t trust herself to drive. Which was fine, because her car wasn’t here in the parking lot anyway, where the PCA field agents had dropped her off. And even if it were here, neither her car key-fob nor her phone nor her purse had reappeared since she awoke in that concrete room — she was lucky she still had her spare apartment key in its hiding place. No, her car was back at the church, the Church of the Seven Stars, from where she was abducted.
Who? Who at the church had “selected” her for kidnapping? Was it Pastor Ron? Someone in the congregation? Or random chance, the whim of the purple-skinned bastard?
She didn’t know. She had to know.
The intersection of 8th Street and Dove Hollow Drive was not that far away. She would walk. She was happy to walk (if “happy” was something that could be applied to her current state of mind), to burn off at least some of this anxiety.
But what was she hoping to accomplish, exactly? Did she expect Pastor Ron — if he was even there, given how late it was in the day, nearly nightfall — to just smile and say, “Of course, Ms. Singh! We have the Good Book of Abductees right here. Would you like to see who’s next on the schedule?”
No, even in her current near-fugue state of mind, she expected nothing so simple. But she had to go there, to demand ... demand something. She knew she could neither sleep nor eat until this was addressed.
So on she marched, her spare key still cutting into her palm, until she reached her Church of the Seven Stars, the former, modest Methodist church that had given way to what she now viewed as a perversion of its former self. She saw her car, still waiting in the parking lot, and that nettled her further. At what point would the “angels” have gotten rid of it? What would they have done with it? Worked it over in that old chop-shop?
Oh, she was going to make a scene! And after that, she would get some sleep, then for good measure, she would go to work tomorrow and give Cassandra, who recommended the place, a piece of her mind.
Mia smiled at that thought as she approached the front door of the church. She caught her reflection in the window to the side and saw that it was not her normal smile, nor was it an appealing look for her. She did not care.
Jerking the doors open, her first impression was that the inside of the church was dark, far darker than she had ever seen it. Well, what of it? She had only been here for Sunday morning and Wednesday evening services, when the congregation was in strong attendance. She could see that there were people here, but they were all huddled up near the front pews. So Pastor Ron probably just wanted to save on electricity and dimmed or shut off most of the lights. No big deal, really, and the least of her concerns.
Still ... it was awfully dark in here.
Shrugging off her momentary lapse of focus, Mia stepped inside, letting the doors close behind her and leaving the nave darker still. She heard Pastor Ron’s voice, but he wasn’t standing up at the pulpit. Was he sitting in the front pew? She couldn’t see well enough to tell.
Maybe ... maybe this isn’t such a good idea after all.
That thought — born out of rationality rearing its head, and a healthy dose of unease — finally took the wind out of her sails. What was she doing? Was she really going to accost her pastor?
No, not my pastor, I’m never attending this “church” again!
But the idea of laying into a man of the cloth no longer sat well with her. She recognized that she must be in a form of shock after all, and was not thinking clearly — between her abduction, her belief that she was about to be auctioned into slavery under a “god,” and her rather dynamic rescue, was it really any surprise? Thank God she had come to her senses before she embarrassed herself!
At some point in her moment of insight, she had closed her eyes. When she opened them, she saw that two of the people, a man and a woman from the front pews, were making their way up the center aisle toward her. At first, she assumed they were members of the congregation, and she hoped she would be able to get away with a brief nod of greeting (and, oh, did she owe her poor neighbor back home an apology) ...
But then she saw that the pair each wore PCA badges over their hearts.
Of course, of course the PCA would follow up on this kidnapping business. Probably not the only official visit they’ll be making in the next few days and weeks, either.
As the PCA field agents reached her, Mia recognized the woman from her rescue earlier today; she had seen her through the van window as the agent escorted one of the ringleader’s impossibly busty sideshow girls toward the larger vehicle behind them. Should she acknowledge her, maybe thank her, thank both of them for their service? It seemed like a warranted and yet awkward thing to do.
But it ended up not mattering: The agents wandered past Mia without noticing her — even in the church’s odd gloom, she could see they were each lost in thought, their expressions somewhere between clouded and disturbed. They opened the doors, one on either side, and disappeared out into the dwindling daylight.
The doors echoed as they slammed shut — more than they should have, from Mia’s perception.
I want to go home.
She started to do just that, to follow the PCA field agents back into the parking lot, maybe ask them for another ride back to her apartment, which she should never have left in such a state of—
“You’re not leaving already, are you?”
Startled, Mia bit down against an audible yelp as she whirled to find little Mrs. Kimble standing right next to her. Where had the petite, elderly woman come from? She hadn’t been there before, had she?
“You just got here,” Mrs. Kimble continued, her voice, as always, much larger than her short stature would suggest. “You haven’t paid your proper respects to your gods.”
Mia had never
cared for Mrs. Kimble. Even when she was in love with this church and the answers it had seemed to provide, Mrs. Kimble had come across as too fanatical for her taste. She was tiny, white-haired, and full of aggressive ardor for the church’s mission. Heck, she was more “Hallelujah!” over the paranormals than Pastor Ron himself.
That realization gave her pause. Her original rationale for coming here, misguided though she knew it was, surged up once again. Not as strong, but enough.
If anyone in this church were gung-ho enough to help those rogues with their kidnapping scheme, it would be Mrs. Kimble.
“Mrs. Kimble ...” she began. How to best word such an accusation? It was a little out of her world experience up to this point.
“Ah-ah-ah!” Mrs. Kimble wagged her finger; it should have come across as cute, or at least endearing, but all Mia felt was patronized. “No chit-chat until you’ve paid your respects.”
“Mrs. Kimble,” Mia repeated, with more force, “what do you know about the ... the ‘god’ with the purple skin? The guest speaker from this morning’s service?”
Mrs. Kimble frowned, which was saying something given that her expression never drew anywhere close to affable. “I know that he deserves our unquestioning devotion.”
“Yeah?” Mia snapped with her own returning anger. “Well, guess what, Mrs. Kimble: I am questioning that devotion.” She pointed her finger at the little old woman, something Mrs. Kimble herself was so fond of doing to others. “Did you know that bastard abducted several of us? From right here in the church?” She smiled, and it felt like that ugly reflection she had seen of herself in the church window. “You probably did know that, right? That’s why the PCA was here. But they were probably talking to Pastor Ron, so what I want to know — right now — is if you had anything to do with it!”
Mia jabbed her finger right in the senior’s face. It was disrespectful of an elder, but she didn’t care. In fact, it made her feel pretty good ...
... until Mrs. Kimble’s eyes blazed wide, she darted forward, and locked her teeth onto the tip of Mia’s finger.
Mia yelped aloud this time, more in shock than in pain. But there was pain! It felt like the old bitch was about to—
Mrs. Kimble jerked her head to the side, ripping Mia’s fingernail — and no small amount of skin — right off. She spat the tissue, the former part of Mia’s body, to the ground and smiled at her, Mia’s own blood staining her lips and teeth, visible even in the gloom.
Clutching her wounded hand, Mia stumbled back from her elderly attacker, sputtering in pain, outrage, and bewilderment. “You ... you ...!”
“Oh, Miss Singh ...”
Mia staggered around toward the voice, nearly losing her footing in the uncoordinated turn. She wanted to take a step backward, too, toward the church doors and escape from this sudden madhouse, but she knew she would just end up on her rump.
Pastor Ron stood in the near end of the center aisle, his vestments appearing far more rumpled than she was used to seeing, his hands clasped before him in a very passive manner. He was flocked by other members of the congregation who looked equally downtrodden, their heads bowed, their eyes on the floor — only Pastor Ron was looking at her as he spoke.
“It’s already disgruntled over today’s events,” the pastor continued, shaking his head in sadness. “You shouldn’t have come here now and gotten its attention. You really shouldn’t have.”
Mia shook her own head, feeling nearly as overwhelmed as when she was preparing to be auctioned off to a bunch of rogues. She held out her cupped, wounded hand as if to say, See what she did?!
Pastor Ron joined the rest of them in lowering his gaze. “I ... I’m sorry, Miss Singh.” Then, in a softer voice, he added, “Run. If you give it some sport, it might show mercy.”
“Tut-tut, Little Ron,” Mrs. Kimble rumbled, her voice sounding somehow different. “No cheating.” The old woman turned back to Mia, licking the blood from her lips with a tongue that was too long, too dark. “But he’s not wrong, you know.”
She smiled at Mia, revealing a mouth full of canine teeth.
Mia ran.
The front doors of the church were so close, so tantalizing, but little Mrs. Kimble blocked the way, and Mia could not bring herself to push past the crazy woman, so she ran the other direction, ran to the left end of the vestibule, nearly tripping again as she rounded the corner into the left aisle, running through the nave of the church ... all with no idea where she was going. She had loved this church, but it wasn’t like she was one of the elders, she had never seen whatever offices stood behind the alter and the large seven white stars where most churches displayed a cross. But there must be another way out, that would be required by fire code, so there must be, there must be another way out!
She just had to find it. If only it weren’t so dark in here ...
Somewhere behind and above her, Mrs. Kimble giggled, a truly nasty sound. But how could the sound be coming from above? It’s not as though the old woman could climb ... the walls ...?
Was Mrs. Kimble a paranormal herself? That could explain her zealotry. If Mia weren’t so scared, and if her finger weren’t hurting so much, she might have tried to figure it out, but as things stood, she was too focused on getting the hell out of here.
As she reached the back wall, she saw a plain, wooden door. Given the size of the church, it probably didn’t lead outside, but it led somewhere, and with luck, it might have a lock on the other side.
She threw herself at the door, seizing the doorknob as she slammed into it. Unfortunately, she used her dominant, wounded hand, and the blood caused the knob to slip within her turning grasp, and she felt as though she fractured everything from her shoulder to her collarbone with the unyielding impact. Moaning, she rebounded with enough force that she finally lost her balance and fell to the floor; on instinct, she reached back to catch herself, which brought even more trauma to her finger.
Tears flowed down her cheeks, and that made her angry all over again. But it was not enough, not against the overpowering hopelessness of her newest situation, and she curled in on herself, hating herself for doing so but doing so nonetheless. She wanted to call her mom, but her phone was still missing along with her purse, and God only knew where her spare apartment key had ended up at this point, she must have dropped it, and what difference did it make since—
A deep, male voice whispered, “Mia Singh?”
Mia gasped and raised her head, positive that she must have been hearing things ...
But there he was, kneeling over her, the big, handsome guy who had been abducted along with her and the others, except it turned out he was paranormal and part of the PCA and participated in their rescue. The last time she had seen him, he had been stark naked except for a borrowed coat, his clothing burned away by the acid that should have killed him; now he was dressed in white pants, along with boots and gloves that were either blue or black — she couldn’t be sure in this light.
“What ...?” she whispered back. “How ...?”
The handsome man smiled an encouraging smile. “I was hoping to talk to you — away from the crime scene, I mean — but when I saw you walking here, I decided to follow you.” He glanced around. “I take it this place is even worse than we knew?”
She shuddered with relief. “Oh. Oh, yes. Yes, please, please take me out of here.”
The handsome man smiled and offered her a hand. “Yes, ma’am. Let’s go.”
She started to reach up, then remembered her injury this time and switched arms. His gloved hand was very cool against her skin, and he pulled her to her feet with little effort.
Glancing around, he squinted into the gloom. “Any idea the fastest way out of here?”
She had half-expected him to maybe just punch a hole through the outside wall — she knew from experience that he probably could — but gestured toward the wooded door and said, “I was going this way when I ...” She hung her head, embarrassed to admit that she had given up without giving it a s
econd attempt. “It might be locked, I’m not sure.”
Her big rescuer nodded, looked around the dark church again, then stepped over to the door and tried the knob — Mia was somewhat mollified to see that it wasn’t just her bloody-handed clumsiness to blame; it was, in fact, locked.
“Hang on a second,” he said while taking another peek into the shadows, then he gripped the knob harder and turned it until something snapped on the inside. The door swung inward into more darkness, but at least they would be leaving creepy, bitey Mrs. Kimble behind. He reached back to guide her through, then joined her and shut the door.
While the church nave had been filled with abnormal gloom, their new location was little better than a mineshaft. Mia made a belated effort to find a light switch, but failed to locate one.
“Do you have a flashlight?” she asked.
Instead of answering, her rescuer said, “Through here.” She felt his reassuring hand on her back, guiding her forward and to her right.
Holding her good hand before her, she shuffled through the pitch black. Her heart pounded from her total inability to see, but she trusted her handsome guardian to protect her. They passed through an open doorway into a stuffy room, his hand separated from her back, and a moment later, she heard another door closing on squeaky hinges.
The room was as dark as ever. And there was an odd smell.
“Ar-are you still there?” she whispered, cringing at how child-like she sounded.
“I’m here,” he replied, still speaking in a low voice but not quite whispering.
“Where ... where are we?”
“I think this little room used to house noisy electrical equipment,” her rescuer said, as though he could see in the dark. Could he? “That would explain why they made it soundproof. Don’t know what a church would need it for, but I don’t really care.” After a moment of silence, he added in a softer voice, almost to himself, “It’s perfect.”
Something about the way he said “perfect” made her uneasy ... well, uneasier.
Don’t go begging for more trouble than you already have! she chastised herself. Just trust him. He helped save you once already today. He’ll take care of you now.
Paranormals | Book 3 | Darkness Reigns Page 12