A Perfect Darkness (21 page)

He laid her down and then sat facing her with his legs flanking her. He pulled her legs up over his shoulders and slid into her. He teased her by barely filling her. He kissed her feet and her ankles and all the way down her thighs. He trailed his tongue in the indent behind her knees, sending such pleasure through her she couldn't believe it was coming from a nonsexual part of her body. His movements pushed his penis deeper, sliding in and out just enough to remind her of the agony and ecstasy of the tease.

His fingers played in her folds, sliding in her wetness, sending shivers through her. Oh, yes, he was teasing her mercilessly, and dammit all, she loved it. His biceps flexed with each movement. She drank in his beautiful body as she was connected to it in such an intimate way. She felt the orgasm bloom without warning, enveloping her in heat. Her toes curled and her hands clutched his knees and felt the coarse hairs that sparsely covered his legs. He was watching her come with a look of satisfaction, of pleasure, and before she
could register that, he took hold of her hips and started slowly moving her against him.

He moved in rhythm and then increased the intensity until she could barely stand it. He never took his eyes from her. She felt the growing pressure beginning at her core and sweeping her body. Then his orgasm hit and he tilted his head back and let it take him with a soft moan of surrender. She watched him, the way his neck muscles stretched and his eyes squeezed shut so his eyelashes brushed his skin. His fingers tightened on her legs. Slowly he came back, in degrees, his eyes fluttering open to find her smiling.

She held out her hands, and somehow he knew she wanted him to pull her up so they were still connected, yet face-to-face. Her eyes drank him in, his cheekbones, the straight line of his nose, his chin…every feature that she wanted to touch now and tomorrow and next month and next year. And she couldn't. She might never actually touch him. The agony of that washed away the joy she'd been feeling at watching him experience their joining.

Before he could see that agony on her face, she hugged him hard, crushing her breasts against him. To no avail; the sobs that rose up inside her burst out. He ran his fingers through her hair, holding her tighter yet, whispering, “Please, don't cry.”

She didn't want him to see her like this, had tried so hard to stop the tears. He pulled her back, though, and wiped away her tears with his fingers. She hoped she didn't have snot coming out of her nose in dreams. No, she'd be beautiful, just as he always saw her. She tried to speak, but heaving gulps came out instead.

He held her close again, stroking her back. “Oh, baby, don't cry, please don't cry. You're killing me.” She heard the kind of pain she was feeling in those last words.

How could she live without him? She had the terrible feeling that this was the last time she'd see him if…if they didn't get him out of there. She pulled back and gripped his face with her hands. Her words came out between gulps. “Lucas…fight. Fight to stay alive. For me. For us. Don't…you…dare…give…up.”

He turned, as though he'd heard a sound, then faced her. “Goodbye, Amy.”

“No, don't say goodbye!”

He was gone.

She still felt his arms around her even as the emptiness tore through her. The tears were real, the sobbing was real…and as she woke, the arms around her were real, too.

Not Lucas.

Petra held her, arms awkwardly around her shoulders as she sat in bed next to her. For a moment Amy felt too wrecked to even be embarrassed. For a moment. Then she grabbed the sheet and wiped her face, snot, tears, and all.

Petra was looking at her strangely, a mix of curiosity and sympathy. “You were with Lucas, weren't you?”

Amy sucked in a deep breath to clear away the emotion. She could only nod at first.

“I drifted off to sleep for a while,” Petra said. “When I woke, I could see your eyes moving beneath your eyelids and I was about to go.”

What had she looked like? Her body had experienced everything that her dream body had. She was still throbbing, flushed, spent. “And?”

“The look on your face. You were…so in love. It's like those paintings, isn't it? He's making love to you.”

Amy nodded. “What am I doing in my sleep?”

“Just arching a little, sighing. Then just as I was really going to leave, you started crying.”

Movement at the door caught her eye. Eric was just outside, watching them. “Is he better, then?”

“He tells me he's fine, but I don't believe him. He said he had a reaction to the Booster. And they're going to keep giving it to him.” Tears threatened again. “They're going to keep giving it to him until he dies.” She took a deep breath, getting her act together. “He's in an old insane asylum.” She wrapped her arms around herself at the thought.

Eric's eyes widened. “Lucas told you that?”

“No, Cyrus did. The voices, they're…people who have died. Cyrus was one of them. He said the asylum was near, but I don't know if he was going to tell me it was near here or near something else before I lost the connection.”

Eric said, “We'll research old asylums. Once we find some likely candidates, I'll remote view them. Let's eat. Then I'll check it out.”

Amy knew she was going to be holding her breath all through dinner. Time was running out.

 

Gerard Darkwell woke Lucas from whatever had spiked his brain waves. “What's happening?”

Lucas blinked awake, his eyes hazy, his voice weak.
“Amy. She said someone was tracking her down. She's only trying to get safe…not rescuing me.”

He looked like hell. They'd almost lost him, and he was still fading.

“She has no powers, so she's not valuable to us,” Gerard said. “As long as she stays away from here and any other Offspring, she's perfectly safe.”

Lucas struggled to sit up on the bed. “I hope to hell you're a man of honor.” He looked doubtful.

Gerard knew that Lucas would be gone by the time Amy was apprehended. At least at this rate, he thought. Damn Steele had failed to catch two women. Two
women,
for God's sake. He hadn't even come up on Mr. Pyro yet.

“One more mission, Lucas, and your work is done. This one is very important. Very sensitive.” Gerard tacked a photograph on the corkboard, followed by a map. “And easy. We know exactly where the target is. Right here, where the red arrow is. Study the information; I'll have to take it with me.”

After a minute Lucas said, “Got it.”

Gerard removed the two papers and walked to the door. “Don't see this as doing it for me. You're doing it for your country.”

He walked out, where Peterson was waiting. “I'll need you here tomorrow at five in the morning,” he said to him. “We'll put him in deprivation mode, have him complete one last mission, and then we'll give him the fourth injection.”

“Are you sure, sir? That will finish him.”

“I'm sure. He's not strong enough to put up a big fight, but bring one of the guards with you just in case.”

Peterson nodded, showing no emotion at all. Like a good soldier.

Having Lucas around was becoming more of a liability than an asset, particularly with his connection to Amy Shane. What if she were caught or shot? He didn't trust an enraged Lucas, even in a weakened state. Look what Eric Aruda had done.

No, better to finish him off sooner than later.

Gerard walked back to Robbins's office, but he wasn't there. He located him in the doctor's lounge with the orange walls, sitting on one of the gray sofas watching CNN.

“Breaking news,” Robbins said. “They just found out that Muhammed Muzaham is dead in a London flat. Died in his sleep. Without him, the cell turned on each other. There have been fourteen arrests.”

Gerard smiled. “I heard. Lucas's second mission was a success. You have to admit it's satisfying to have that kind of impact on terrorism.”

Robbins reluctantly nodded. “We saved lives.”

Maybe there was hope for Robbins yet. “Hundreds of lives, and think of the terror we've prevented people feeling. We're doing a good thing here.” Now he would seal Robbins's loyalty with a bit of information he'd just learned. “This was the group that bombed the house where your cousin was hiding out in Afghanistan. These are the people who killed him.”

Robbins stood. “You're sure?”

“We're sure.”

He lowered his head for a moment.

“Feels good, doesn't it?”

Robbins curled his hands into fists. “Yeah, it does.”

“Back to the problem at hand. We're still having trouble locating the Rogues' hideout. They've either got a block on it or maybe it's near an energy or magnetic field. I could torture Lucas for the information, but I know he'd never give them away and I need him for other things. Any luck on your end?”

Robbins stood. “I've looked up their families' properties going back three generations. Now I'm working on friends, but that's a short list.”

“We'll find them. They're obviously in the area. Go home, celebrate our victory. It's yours, too, you know.”

Robbins tilted his head. “I notice you call Lucas by his first name.”

“I address him by his first name to sound…friendlier. It just becomes habit to refer to him that way. Don't think I'm getting soft on him.” He narrowed his eyes. “He's the enemy. The enemy is just a machine, Robbins. A machine we're going to shut down.”

I
t was 5:30
A.M.
Amy, Eric, and Petra had spent most of the night researching insane asylums, unearthing article after article, and consulting maps. Or rather, Eric and Petra did, because Amy sat next to the map feeling left out. Sitting at the computer, Eric read off story after story on military hospitals and sanatoriums, and Petra marked them on the map. Occasionally Amy was able to find the location before Petra did.

Amy said, “I can get around the Internet fast.”
Faster
, she didn't say. She wiggled her fingers.

“If I need something typed up,” Eric replied, “I'll let you know.”

She grimaced in frustration. “You type with your pointer fingers. Tap. Tap. Tap.”

“Shut, shut, shut up.” He rolled his neck. “Petra, give me one of your miraculous massages. My shoulders are killing me.”

She stood and rubbed his shoulders as he kept trolling the Internet.

Amy held her tongue on Eric's smart-assed remark. “Miraculous massage?”

Petra shrugged. “Everyone says my massages cure them. Headaches, shoulder aches, that kind of thing.”

“Her hands get warm, too,” he said.

“I even thought about training to become a massage therapist, but the thought of touching strangers”—she shuddered—“I couldn't do it.”

“Why not?”

“It's literally uncomfortable, like the time I pushed a wire out of the way and it was still charged. It went through my body. That's how it feels when I touch someone.” That bothered her on a deeper level. “Maybe I'm just cold or…uncuddly.”

Amy thought of her porcupine poster.

Eric made groaning noises as he rolled his neck under Petra's touch. “Much better.”

“Good, get back to work,” Amy said.

He tilted the chair at a precarious angle. “Here's something. It's dated eight years ago. The Merrill State Mental Hospital was a civilian asylum and then was used for military personnel suffering from things like post-traumatic stress disorder. Funding disappeared and the place was closed. Apparently it needs a lot of work or should be demolished altogether.”

“That sounds promising. Print it out,” Amy said. “And keep looking.”

“Yes, ma'am,” he said, giving her a mock salute.

She gave him a mock salute back with one particular finger extended. She nearly ruined the moment by laughing at his shocked expression.

He gave Petra the coordinates to find it on the map, ignoring Amy. Petra rolled her eyes. “Look, we're stuck down here together for God knows how long in this place with no windows, no sunlight, sameness.” She
shuddered. “We have to get along or at least be civil.” To Amy, she said, “If you're engaging Eric in a power struggle, forget it. You won't win and everyone will be miserable.” She shot him a look. “Everyone but him. He'll love it.”

Amy saw the challenge in his expression. “I'm not interested in a power struggle,” she said. “But I do insist on respect.”

Eric had already tuned them out, continuing to tap on the keys. Tap. Tap. Tap. Amy twitched with each tap.

“Here's another promising one, and it's near Fort Meade. It was built in the 1800s, went through a few different transitions, but has always been military something or another. I can't tell what it is now.” He printed it out. “How many do we have?”

“Three possibilities in this area, three more farther out,” Petra said.

He got down on the floor with them and studied the map. His fingers touched one of the marks Petra had made. “I'll start here, the last one I found.”

He rolled onto his back and closed his eyes. Like before, he took several minutes to sink into a semiconscious state. His body began to tremble. Sweat broke out on his upper lip. His breathing deepened.

Even though Amy knew what he was experiencing, it was still spooky to watch. She'd endure it a thousand times to see Lucas. She glanced at Petra, whose expression tensed with fear as she stared at Eric.

“What are you afraid of?” Amy whispered. “Is there something dangerous about remote viewing?”

“There wasn't until someone was at the other end. Someone like us.”

Amy nodded. They didn't know the boundaries of their powers. Or the dangers.

Eric's mouth, usually in a hard line, softened. She imagined this was what he looked like in sleep, those strong features relaxed, the anger muted. He mumbled for a few seconds and then his words became intelligible. “People. Busy place. Checking out basement.” He winced. “Dead people.”

Amy's heartbeat jumped. “Who?”

“One's getting cut open. Autopsy. Oh, shit. This is the morgue.”

She exchanged a relieved look with Petra.

“Coming back,” Eric said.

A few moments later he opened unfocused eyes. They met hers, and she got that uncomfortable feeling that accompanied her memories of what she'd seen in his mind. She always used her plain clothing and unruly hair to create a wall around her, so she rarely had to deal with admiring looks or sexual innuendo. Ozzie was subtle, and certainly not sensual. Seeing blatant desire made her feel clammy inside.

“It was just a regular hospital,” he said, his voice softer now that he was tired. He sat up and studied the map. “I'm going to try the next one.” He settled on the floor again and closed his eyes. “This is the one that was shut down eight years ago.”

It took several more minutes before he sank into the ethers. “I see the building. It's not as big as the last one, only one story, but it's wide. There's a tall fence around it. Weeds growing all over, looks abandoned. Except…ah, very interesting. There are two armed guards patrolling the perimeter. I see about five cars in the parking lot. I'm going to get closer.”

His eyebrows furrowed. “I can't get through the roof. It's like there's a shield. I'm going to try to punch through—” His face tightened. His body stiffened. “Almost.” A moment later his eyes snapped opened. “I got kicked back again, just like when we went to Lucas.”

“That's it!” Amy said, hope rushing through her body.

Eric's voice sounded weak. “That's the good news. The bad news is they probably know that we know.”

“What do you mean?” Petra blurted out.

“If an enemy Offspring put the shield on, he might know if someone tried to come through.”

“We may be looking,” Amy said, “but if we can't get in, we don't have verification. They can't be sure we'd try anything based on a hunch.”

Petra nodded toward her. “Annoyingly optimistic, isn't she?”

“Just annoying,” Eric said, and stretched out on the floor again. “I'm going to go back but stay overhead and not alert anyone to my presence.”

This time Amy didn't watch him. She read through the article on the defunct asylum. “This has to be it,” she whispered, handing it to Petra, who was watching Eric.

It didn't take him long to open his eyes. He looked more tired than before, but grabbed a notepad and sketched the building's outline and perimeter. “The building's a wreck. I don't get the impression this is a high-level operation.”

Amy popped a raisin in the air and caught it in her mouth, a poor substitute for chocolate-covered cranberries. “Remember, this program is off the records.
Whoever's heading this isn't going to be able to requisition a bunch of guards.”

Eric said, “They still have the resources of the U.S. government behind them. Do you know how many experiments have been done under the shield of ‘Classified'? Dozens, if not more. While I waited to see if you two made it back here alive, I trolled around on the Internet. I didn't find anything about DARK MATTER or BLUE EYES, but I found secret psychic projects that were declassified. In one they even explored remote viewing, though without any concrete results. And no one had pyrokinesis,” he added with a touch of pride.

“That the public knew about,” Amy added, just to keep him in check.

He gave her a frigid smile but with a shrug conceded, “There was plenty on those reports that was still blacked out. I saw nothing about a cocktail given to the subjects either, but in one program, subjects were secretly given LSD. One guy flipped out and threw himself out a window.” He got to his feet and stretched.

While the computer was free, Amy got on and typed in the asylum's address on Google's satellite image maps. “Here it is, about forty minutes from here, give or take, depending on traffic. And if I'm not mistaken, tomorrow—well, today, technically—is Saturday, so traffic should be light.”

Eric said, “We're not going today. We've got to make a plan.”

“Every hour that passes brings less hope of rescuing Lucas alive.”

He looked at both of them and took a breath, as
though gathering strength. “We're not going to bring Lucas back alive.”

“What?” Amy balled her hands into fists, ready to fight. “The hell we aren't.”

“When he came to warn me you were in trouble, he said he'd be dead soon. There's no hope, Amy.”

She felt a rush of cold wash over her. “There's always hope!”

He shook his head. “Lucas's right. We're not risking a rescue. Only a recon.”

She got in his face. “No! We are not giving up!”

“He doesn't want us risking our lives for his dead body.”

She pounded on his chest. “We can't leave him there! He's just trying to protect us.”

He grabbed her wrists, jerking her against him. “That's right! He's trying to protect us from getting killed. Or getting caught. They're putting something in him that's tearing him down. Killing him. We have to accept that we're not going in to bring Lucas back. We're going in to find the truth. We have to be stealthy. That means being unemotional, cool, and calm. You are not unemotional about Lucas. So you'd better get that through that pretty head of yours.”

The truth about her dad's suicide and who she was had been important to her in the beginning but now had taken a distant second to finding Lucas. “Maybe you can be unemotional. Maybe you don't have a heart. I can't!” Her breaths were coming quickly. “You can pretend you're cold and detached, but that's a damned lie! We are
not
giving up—”

Eric kissed her, hard and without mercy.

After a moment of shock she shoved him away. “Don't you ever touch me again.”

“You're getting hysterical. That seemed better than cuffing you.”

“Eric!” Petra said.

Amy wiped her hand over her lips, rubbing away the imprint of his mouth on hers. Okay, maybe she'd gotten a bit overwrought. She took several calming breaths.

His glow was jagged. “We can't go in guns and emotions blazing. Doing that will get you killed.”

“You know that Lucas is just telling us not to get him in order to protect us. You said earlier that he was noble. So forget what he said. What we know is that he
will
die if we leave him there. If we rescue him, we at least have a chance of saving him. I don't care what condition he's in; we're getting him out of there.”

Eric studied her face, obviously seeing her conviction and hearing it beneath her calmly spoken words because he said, “We need to rest today. Don't go off and do anything stupid. We'll go tonight.”

“To bring Lucas back,” Amy said.

He met her gaze, then Petra's. “To bring Lucas back.”

 

Lucas woke in the dark, sure that he was in an oven. He'd heard the chime. Time for his third mission. He tried to sit up but had no strength. Sweat covered his body. Not an oven. The heat was inside him, burning through his veins.

Got to get through this. One more time. Amy will be safe.

He had no choice but to believe, to cooperate. He summoned the memory of the man's picture. Dark hair, wavy, something exotic about his looks.

When he tried to sink into the zone, though, his mind faltered. He was already seeing the shapes floating in the darkness. This deprivation was driving him insane. Or was it the Booster? He was slipping away from sanity. That's the only thing he was sure of anymore.

The shapes morphed into images. Memories, of his childhood, of the five children at the inflatable pool, Amy with her freckles and wild hair, each image coming faster. Then the storm began. He saw the man with the beaten face again. He was screaming, arching his body. Another man standing by him. Giving him an injection. The same brawny man who had given Lucas the first injection and claimed to be a nurse. The Devil's voice:
Your mission…
The man telling the Devil to go screw himself. The Devil:
If you want your grandmother to live…
Then, strangely, he saw the children again. Zeroed in on the boy, the fifth child…saw the boy's face. Rand. Then he saw the bruised face. He was here. The person he'd seen being wheeled down the hall.

Hell, they had him, too.

The images ceased. For a moment, quiet, and then he saw the target. The man was sleeping in an elaborate, four-poster bed, the dawn light spilling in through an immense arched window. The woman next to him lifted her head, looked at the clock, and then lay down again. Lucas centered over the man and then floated away. He was losing control, like a Macy's parade balloon with only one rope holding it to the
earth. He struggled to maintain his position. He was tired, so damned tired.

Even in sleep the man's face was all hard lines and furrowed brows.

Let him be a bastard.

And he went in…

 

Olivia returned to the facility later that day, feeling anxious and restless. She'd forgotten some papers she wanted to work on, but in truth just needed to escape her family's dynamics. This place was no serene escape, though. It gave her the creeps, especially when there weren't many people here.

She found herself again in the east wing, where the criminally insane had once been housed and the prisoners were kept now. She passed the darkened room where the newest one was being held. Farther down, where a guard was hovering just outside an open doorway, she heard Peterson's tense voice: “Come on, stop moving already. Let's get this over with.”