Authors: Susan Kaye Quinn
Tags: #gritty, #Dystopian, #contemporary fantasy, #series, #Paranormal, #Dark Fantasy, #anthologies, #cyberpunk, #future noir, #serial, #Short Stories, #urban fantasy
Fallen
Text copyright © 2013 by Susan Kaye Quinn
May 2013 Edition
All rights reserved.
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Cover by Steven Novak
The Debt Collector Serial
EPISODE 6 –
Fallen
Contains mature content and themes.
For YA-appropriate thrills, see Susan’s Mindjack series.
Fallen
is approximately 13,000 words or 52 pages
, and is the sixth of nine episodes in the first season of The Debt Collector serial. This dark and gritty future-noir is about a world where your life-worth is tabulated on the open market and going into debt risks a lot more than your credit rating.
Summary
What’s your life worth on the open market?
A debt collector can tell you precisely.
Lirium’s hopes for escape from Kolek’s mob are threatened when Valac seems to be coming unhinged.
Recommend read first:
And
And
I do more pushups than I’ve ever done before.
I pass a hundred and keep going, like I’ve got the muscle strength of a marine. It’s the years of life energy I collected yesterday, boosting me to ridiculous levels of stamina. Valac wasn’t lying when he said that collecting for the mob would make me stronger. I wonder, if it came to it, if I’d have the strength to fight him off. Not physically, but with stored life energy. But he must have years and years more than me, his cut from all his time working for Kolek, so probably not. But maybe.
I stop after a hundred and fifty. Sweat drips down to my chin as I stand. I wipe it with my shoulder. I should shower, get dressed, but I pace instead, energy still vibrating through my body. It’s not just the life energy—something inside me was cracked open when I made that choice to save the boy instead of myself. Something freeing and dangerous. I’m not quite sure what it is, but suddenly things seem possible that didn’t before. Only I’ve been locked inside my room since the showdown with Kolek, unable to do anything. It’s been a day and a half since Valac shut me in, and the agitation is threating to drive me insane.
I know what’s in my file, the one Kolek not-so-vaguely used to threaten me. My mom’s name, her last known address, and a whole host of other information about her, me, my long-gone father, and anything else the Agency wanted. I filled it all out because I wanted in. Now, all of it is in Kolek’s hands.
He may already know where she is. The only thing that gives me hope that he doesn’t, is that
I
don’t. She moved sometime after she signed me over to the Agency. It’s my fault, really. When the Agency wouldn’t take me early, I left home. Couldn’t take the look in her eyes anymore, like I was already dead to her. I lived on the streets awhile, had my encounter with the mob in that alley, then finally made my way back home.
Only she wasn’t there.
The landlord said she had moved out. The pharmacy where she worked said she quit. Just pulled up stakes and left. I didn’t try to track her down because… well, because I figured she didn’t want to be found. Now I’m tempted to search my palm screen for her, but that would only lead Kolek right to her. And if she’s that easy to find, he has her already.
The sun pushes hazy red light through the bars across my window. I press the heels of my hands to my eyes, rubbing out the sweat in the need to think. At some point, I’ll screw up, balk at some order, and then there will be no way for me to protect her. I have to get out, and soon, but I don’t even know where to start.
I need to talk to Ophelia. There’s got to be some way to convince her to leave. Or at least help me get out. I shouldn’t want her to come with me—if I had any sense, I wouldn’t even trust her to help—but I can’t stop myself from wanting something better for both of us than a life in the mob. And wanting to share that life with her.
I want to pound on my door, demand someone let me see her, but that would belie my tough new act as a mob collector. I’m tempted to at least bang on my wall; Valac’s room is just on the other side. I peel off my damp t-shirt, wipe the rest of the sweat from my face, and throw the wadded shirt hard against the wall behind the bed. The soft puff sound won’t disturb Valac, but the act of throwing it vents some of my frustration.
I run both hands through my hair. I really should shower. Be ready, in case Valac comes to my door with an opportunity to collect. That’s going to be my best chance. Outside the compound. More variables. Less security. The problem is there’s no way to plan an escape when I don’t know where or when we’re venturing out.
I wipe my hands on my sweat pants and take two steps toward the shower when my door slides open. I pull up short. Ophelia darts in my room, swiping a card past the door lock and sliding it shut again.
I cover the distance between us in three long strides.
She’s dressed in the gray silk pajamas Kolek gave her the first night. “Lirium—”
I cut her off by taking her in my arms and kissing her. Her small frame fits against me, and her arms slip around my neck. I pull her tight, one hand at her back, the other behind her head, holding her as my lips make demands.
Her mouth opens, welcoming me in. I deepen our kiss and press her against the door. She starts to transfer, giving me a hit through her fingers clutching at my shoulders. I slide my hand under her pajamas, finding bare skin at the small of her back, and cycle the energy to her again.
I pause our kiss for a second, just long enough to say, “Hello,” then kiss her again. She smiles against my lips, and I may have ruined it by making her laugh. I pull back.
“Hello yourself,” she says.
“I’m really glad to see you.” I’m a little breathless.
“I couldn’t tell.”
I smile, then kiss her lightly. We’ve stopped transferring, and I relax my fervent hold on her, but she’s still trapped between me and the door. The kiss was just a spontaneous reaction—I hope it was the right call, because I need her on my side. She doesn’t seem in a hurry to be elsewhere, so I think my instincts were right.
“How did you get in here?” I ask, softly.
She waves the swipe card. “The staff won’t figure out it’s gone until the morning.”
I grin. “You planning on staying a while?” I’m thinking there may be more than one way to convince her to help me, and I’m definitely not averse to experimenting.
“I was getting bored in my room,” she says.
The idea of dragging her to bed for a while dissipates as I realize she just broke out of her room. “Wait, if you can swipe into my room with that—”