Fear (7 page)

“Now,” said Carlo. “Now we're ready to begin our talk.”

Tom shook his head. “I've got nothing to say.”

Carlo walked over and gave Tom a backhanded slap. “You said you wanted to talk—now's your chance.”

Tom only stared at him. They were going to torture him. He knew that. The batteries behind him would cause Tom to convulse and jerk uncontrollably. There would be pain. Lots of pain. But it would still be worth it. This trip outside the cell had given him a good look at what he was facing. There were few people on this island, maybe no more than the three he had already seen. The building was old, without electricity. There probably wouldn't be any alarms or sophisticated systems. If Tom could get out of his cell—and get Natasha out of hers—he was sure they could get away from this place. No matter how many times sadistic Carlo made Tom twitch, the trip was worth it.

“I've changed my mind,” said Tom. “I don't think we really have anything to talk about.”

Carlo laughed. “It's too late for that.”

“There's nothing I can tell you that Loki doesn't already know.” Tom pushed against the straps, but they held him tightly to the chair. “You want to know something, all you have to do is ask.”

“That may be true,” said Carlo, “but it's a lot more fun this way.”

Footsteps approached along the hallway. Tom twisted around as best he could in the chair and saw that the other guard was returning. In his arms was Natasha.

There was a gag across her mouth and a rope around her wrists. Her clothing was stained with dirt. The usually pale skin of her arms was marked by dark bruises.

Carlo turned toward her as the guard dragged her close. “Ahhh, now here is someone I was looking forward to seeing.” He reached out and ran a finger slowly down Natasha's cheek. “Though I don't think we're going to do much talking.”

Tom braced his feet and threw himself against the straps. The wood chair creaked but didn't break. “She doesn't know anything.”

Carlo smiled. “I don't care.” He patted Natasha's cheek, then took her by the wrist. “Come along, sweetheart. Your boyfriend here wouldn't want you to see him while he's crying.”

“Come back,” said Tom. “I'll tell you—”

The first shock from the batteries jerked back his head and chopped off his words. He could only watch as Carlo and the guard dragged Natasha away.

THE APARTMENT WAS TOO SMALL.
Way too small.

Heather had never noticed it before, but the walls were really close together and there was no space. None at all. She paced from the front window to the kitchen. Down the hall. Through the living room. Back to the window.

At first being sent home from school had seemed like no big deal. So what if she flunked a class? So what if she got thrown out? So what if she never went to college? None of that mattered. She wasn't worried. She wasn't scared.

But something was. . . wrong. She couldn't even remember what had happened at the school. Heather had been yelling at Megan, but she couldn't remember why. After that. . . after that she wasn't too sure. Gaia had been there and the vice principal. Had she really been suspended? Even that part wasn't clear.

She flexed her hands. All morning long, her hands had been kind of aching. Her legs, too. And there was this tingle. Almost
like a cold shiver,
but not quite.

Heather made another lap through the rooms and ended up back at the front door. Then pop, she was in the kitchen. Her vision was going weird again. It wasn't fuzzy, like she needed glasses. It was more like everything was moving in little jerks and starts.
As if the whole world was being lit by some monster strobe that blinked on and off, on and off.
One moment she was in the living room, the next she was in the hall, then at the door, all without moving through the space in between.

It probably should have been frightening, but like so many other things, it wasn't.

There was a knock at the door.
Good,
thought Heather.
At least something's happening now. I was getting so bored.

“. . . I THINK WE SHOULD ACT
now,” said Josh.

Heather blinked.
“Josh? How?” She turned around. She was in the living room again.

“When did you get here?”

“Five minutes ago. Listen, Heather, you have to pay attention. You—”

THE KITCHEN THIS TIME. SHE
was sitting in a chair across the table from Josh. “I. . . I don't understand. What are you doing here?”'

Josh pressed his lips into a
hard white line.
“Heather, the injection you were given. I lied to you about how safe it was.”

“It's not safe?”

“No, it's—”

JOSH WAS ON THE FLOOR,
a thin trickle of blood coming from the corner of his mouth. Heather stood over him, breathing hard. “What happened?”

“Happened?” Josh sat up and rubbed his busted lip. “Are you through hitting me now?”

Heather looked at her hands. Her knuckles looked raw, and her hand ached. “Did I hit you?”

“Several times,” said Josh.

“I'm sorry, I—” This time, Heather didn't pass out and time didn't just slip away.
This time, that tingling feeling turned into red-hot, agonizing pain.
She screamed and fell to the floor. Her arms and legs began to thrash, completely out of her control. Her hands and heels pounded against the linoleum tile. She bit her tongue and the bright, metallic taste of blood exploded in her mouth. But she wasn't afraid.

Josh crouched down beside her and lifted her head in his hands. “I'm sorry, Heather. I never intended this to happen.”

Heather tried to respond, but she couldn't get her mouth to cooperate.
All that came out was something halfway between a growl and a grunt.

“I have something with me,” said Josh. “Something that I think might help. Something that—”

HEATHER WAS SITTING AT THE
kitchen table. Which was weird, because she had just been about to go out the door. Had there been a knock? Her arms and legs were aching and there was a strange taste in her mouth and. . .

“Josh? When did you get here?”

Josh winced. “Heather, we have to do this quick. Before you forget again.”

“Forget what?”

He reached into the pocket of his jacket and pulled out a small vial of honey-colored liquid. “I brought the counteragent. I have to give it to you now.”

“What happened to you?” asked Heather. She stared at his lip. “Are you hurt?”

“That doesn't matter now.” Josh rubbed the drying blood from the corner of his mouth, then he took a syringe from his coat and inserted it into the little container of fluid. “Once I give you this injection, we'll have plenty of time to talk.”

“What kind of injection? What does it do?”

Josh leaned across the table and aimed the syringe at Heather's bare arm. “The counteragent should interfere with the effects of the phobosan. I won't lie to you; I'm through lying to you. This counteragent hasn't been tested on people, but if it works as expected, you'll be okay.”

“Interfere with the phobosan?” Heather jerked her arm back away from him. “You mean I would be afraid again?”

Josh frowned. “Heather, you have to let me give you this injection.”

She shook her head. “No.”

“Don't you see what's happening to you? Heather, you're falling apart. You're not thinking straight.” He paused a moment before going on. “You could be dying.”

Heather stared at him across the table. “You want me to go back.”

“Yes, I think the counteragent will—”

She pushed her chair away from the table and stood. “I see what's going on here. Don't think I don't.”

“Heather—”

“I'm not going back. I'm not going to be that little mouse.”

Josh stood up and moved around the table toward her. “You were never a mouse. You were just a normal woman.” He stretched the syringe toward her. “You only had the fears that everybody has.”

Heather trembled, but it wasn't with cold. A hot fury washed over her. No matter what Josh was saying, she knew it had to be a lie. She was fearless. Powerful. Josh didn't want her like that.
He wanted her weak.
Afraid. That's what they all wanted.

Josh reached for her. “You have to trust me.”

“No!” Heather slashed out and knocked the syringe from Josh's hand. The syringe struck the side of the kitchen cabinets and shattered.
Glass and counteragent sprayed across the floor.
“I'm fearless!” she shouted at him. “And I'm going to stay that way!”

HEATHER WAS STANDING IN THE
middle of the kitchen. But she didn't know why. Wasn't she at school? Had there been some kind of argument?

It took a few seconds before she realized she wasn't alone. Josh was there. He was sitting at the kitchen table.

“Josh!” Heather smiled at him. “Hey, what are you doing here?” She walked over to the table and sat down next to him. “Let's get out of here and go do something. This place is so small.”

Heather was very surprised when Josh began to cry.

A
break is what you take when the stress is getting way too high. A break is what happens if you don't take one. And if you think that's funny, you're probably getting real close to breaking.

Which is where I am.

You would think I'm used to things coming at me from sixteen directions. I mean, when did my 1ife ever slow down?

Here are the current highlights. My father is missing. The one person I thought was going to help me find him is not only dead, he's a traitor. Natasha is gone, too, and I think Tatiana blames me for that. She might not say it, but she knows that the real reason her mother is gone is because she got involved with Tom Moore and his insane daughter. I know Tatiana is counting on me to help find her mother, and I'd love to do that. Really. Love to find her and my dad, only I don't have a clue. I'm in a completely clue-free zone. Oh, yeah, and Heather has gone majorly berserk. I don't know what's causing it, but I'll bet my entire lifetime consumption of Krispy Kreme doughnuts that whatever is wrong with her was caused by that asshole Josh.

I'd love to talk to Ed about all this. I'd love to just
be
with Ed. But if I so much as look at him, he'll probably end up being the next of Gaia's formerly living friends.

No matter how bad I want one, I don't ever get to take a vacation from being me. I'm stuck with the sucky job of being Gaia Moore 24/7. If you know somebody that's interested in taking over, tell them to give me a call.

This was a bad idea. A really bad idea. A get yourself sliced, diced, and served up on a platter idea.

SATURDAY MORNING WAS PRIME
time for the chess tables in Washington Square Park. Not long after dawn, people started drifting in. The tables got set up. The little pieces lined up just so. By eight o'clock half a dozen matches were under way. Some of the regulars did so much business fleecing the chess wanna-bes that they kept sign-up sheets where challengers could reserve a game time to get a beating. The best could be booked all day.

Mr. Haq wasn't the best. The cabdriver hung around the park every minute that his meter wasn't running and was always anxious for a match. He played a decent game, there was no doubt about that, but he'd never be a master-level player. He lacked the
killer instinct.
He was a defensive player. He'd work through a dozen moves to save a pawn and never think about letting the piece go and zooming in for the enemy king. Sacrifice was not in his vocabulary.

Gaia put her elbows on the edge of the table and rested her chin in her hands. “Are you going to move in this century?”

Haq frowned but didn't take his eyes off the board. “It's not polite to ask such questions.”

“We don't have a clock,” said Gaia, “but I know you've taken at least thirty minutes just for this move. The rules don't say I have to be that polite.”

He grunted and continued to stare at the board.

Gaia sighed. This was supposed to be an exercise in Gaia Relaxation. A brief moment of suspended reality where she could forget that her father was missing. Forget that her uncle was some mad
bastard with a psycho chemistry set.
Forget that she didn't dare show Ed how much she cared about him. Forget that somewhere out there someone was taking notes on every move she made. Forget everything. For a few measly little hours she was going to take a break from insanity, get back to the park, and do something that she actually enjoyed.

But watching Mr. Haq
not
moving was
not
relaxing. It was maddening. “Would it help if I told you the game is over in six moves?”

“This is not possible,” said Mr. Haq.

“Yes, it is.”

“Six moves?”

“Uh-huh.”

The cabdriver stared at the board and didn't say a word.

Gaia gritted her teeth. It wasn't just that Mr. Haq played a slow, cautious game. A lot of players were slow. But what Gaia needed right now was someone that attacked. Someone that came after her with
feints and counterattacks
—someone that would get her so involved, she could lose herself in the game. Mr. Haq's zero-heat approach gave Gaia way too much time for unwanted thinking.

A shadow fell across the board. Gaia looked up, half expecting Loki or one of his army of followers. Instead she found Tatiana looking down at her. Even more surprising, Tatiana was smiling.