Open World (15 page)

A
deep pang of longing for it to be true settled in her core. She put her hand to
her mouth and stuck her forefinger’s knuckles between her teeth so as not to
cry out. How could she know everything would be okay? How come she felt such
intense yearning for the water? She wasn’t really a part of this world. She
shouldn’t feel anything about it!

Behind
her, the huge wooden door creaked open and, in the reflection of the window,
she watched Hawk-man enter. A toga-like outfit adorned his tall, lean body. The
white cloth glared bright against the dark room. A wide gold belt cinched him
at the waist. Leather boots fit snug along his calves.

Casually
he came up behind Faith, put an arm around her and positioned her to face him.
With his free hand, he captured her chin in a vise-like grip and tilted her
head up. Dark beady eyes gazed down at her. A chill streaked down her spine,
sending zings of ice along her
peripheral
nerves.

Squeezing her eyes shut, she willed her mind to
recall what Cassandra had taught her during lunch that day. She was supposed to
figure out if she was in the dream or not, which she knew she was. Then she was
to take control of the dream and put herself elsewhere by envisioning a new
environment. Closing her eyes, she forced a picture of Big T to her mind, and
the day they were caught in the kitchen by her sister. Like Dorothy
,
but without the red slippers, she clicked her bare heels together three
times as she imagined kissing him.

“I know what you’re attempting, my dear,” Hawk-man’s
soft voice simmered
.
H
e clutched her chin tighter. “You
won’t ever be able to control your situation here. There’s no use in trying.
You are mine, mine to do with what I will. You will obey me and carry out my
commands. You will be my consort, but not my equal.”

Shocked
at his arrogance and compelled by a tug on her mind, she opened her eyes. His voice
had the same effect as being under the influence of a drug, lulling her body,
but not her feelings
into
an
altered state. She fought the forces sweeping through her mind. Her heart
thumped uncomfortably. His head, tilted to one side, descended toward her. He slid
his hand from her chin to the back of her head, and pressed his lips to hers,
assaulting her mouth more than kissing it.

Scared
by his barbaric attitude and forceful advances, she attempted to pull from him,
but he held fast, crushing her body to his. He pried her lips open with his
tongue and aggressively explored her mouth. Letting go of the back of her head,
his hand found its way to the front of her body. Fingers slipped up and under
the lower band of her top. A warm palm and pads of fingers groped her breast.
The thumb passed over her nipple several times, bringing it to a hard nub,
which he subsequently pinched, rolled and rubbed between his thumb and
forefinger. Both his kiss and breast kneading were harsh, unpleasant.

If
she had her way, she would have bitten off his tongue and broken his hand, but
her voice
advised her against it. The
voice also told her to never, ever taste his blood.

He
seemed so brutal this time it irked her to no end and, just as she thought she
wouldn’t be able to take his crude advances anymore, he stopped, placed his
hand on her shoulders and stepped back.

“Have
you stayed pure? Have you kept your body sacred for me?”

She
looked out the window at the night sky, wondered where her home was. She
couldn’t help speculating if she was still in the C.O.V.E.N. game. Was all this
supposed to happen during game play?

Turning
back to him with a sigh, she nodded her head.

“Have
you taken a lover elsewhere? Have you been anyone else?”

Again,
the same questions he asked each time they were together. The pattern varied,
though. She figured he did that to confuse her, make her tell on herself, and shook
her head. Nope, good girl Faith was still a virgin.

“Good.
Very good.
You know why?
Because
you’re mine.
I want you pure.”

Hawk-man’s
head tilted again, as if he were about to swoop in for another kiss, but a
knock at the door stopped his advance. “Enter,” he hollered.

The
large door swung open and in the opening stood a tall man dressed and masked
similar to the Hawk-man. “My liege, Mabuz,” he said, clicking his heels
together, then strode in to the room.

Her
inner voice
gasped in surprise. A
subconscious frisson of terror shot through her upon hearing Hawk-man’s name.

“Yes.
What is it?” Mabuz paced, apparently irritated at the interruption.

“Your
father, King Marcab, wishes your audience in the war room.”

“Fine.
Who are you?”

“Dolon, Your Grace.”
He replied with a bow. “I’m new
to the Majesty’s service.”

The
two men appeared to study each other for a few intense moments.

Mabuz
cocked his head. “Good, we can always use another strong hand in the cause.” He
turned back to her and lightly ran a finger down the side of her cheek. “We’ll
continue this later, my dear.”

She
jerked her head away from his touch and faced the window, resting her hands on
the sill.

“Dolon,”
Mabuz barked behind her back.

“Yes?”

“Stay
here and keep watch until I get back. Make sure my prize doesn’t go anywhere.”

Once
the door clicked shut, she spun around to face the newcomer. “I hope you don’t
think you’re going to take advantage of me like that guy’s been doing.” She
pointed at the door,
then
put her hands on her hips.

Dolon
shook his head. The light golden brown hair not covered by the mask cascaded
down his head to his neck in long layered, shagged cuts and swayed with the
movement. Eyes behind the semi-transparent glassy beads, over a sun-bronzed
body, stared at her.

“Zya,”
he whispered.

She
tilted her head, recognizing the name.
Yes,
her voice cried. “Yes, I suppose so. Do I know you?”

He
approached her, and the air around them sizzled with an underlying current of
passion. Her heart fluttered in her chest. He removed the mask and held it in
the crook of his arm. She stared at the ruggedly handsome man as he fluffed the
matted locks of hair on his head. He looked familiar, but she couldn’t place
from where she knew him. His dark green eyes looked
into
hers and, though it was only for
a fleeting moment, she felt as if she had stared
into
those eyes for ages.

“You
did once,” he whispered.

“Excuse
me?” She stiffened, not realizing she had spoken her thoughts until he replied.

“You
said you felt as if you had stared into my eyes for ages. I said yes. You had,
once upon a time.” He placed his free hand on her shoulder. “No harm has come
to you here, has it?”

“Nah.
Mabuz, as you call him, can be a
bit, umm, overzealous at times, but I’m all right. Why do you ask?”

“Because
I lo—”

“Dolon,”
Mabuz’s bellow from the hall cut off his reply.

“Beautiful Zya.
I must go for now.” He pecked
the side of her cheek. “Tell no one I spoke to you. I will come again. All will
be revealed.”

She
bobbed her head, having an immediate trust in him. The twinkle in his eye
roused a kernel of a memory in her, but the thought of the place or time where
she had known him was so fleeting she couldn’t sustain the recollection.

Once
more his name was yelled in the hall but closer. He put the mask on and hurried
from the room.

A
spurt of ardent desire for the man she just met dashed through her. She wished
he could have stayed in her presence. Dolon emanated an energy that drew her
like a bear to honey. She craved more of him, more contact than that brief
touch of his hand upon her shoulder.

PART
SIX

Hope’s
Amnesia

Chapter Thirteen

Hope
appeared in the middle of what looked to be a homeless shelter. It wasn’t what
she’d pictured back at…

She
shook her head and scratched it. Where’d she come from? Where was it that she
wanted to go? Her mind acted like a blank chalkboard being looked at through a
fisheye lens. Writing appeared hazy and indecipherable on the outer edges of
the sphere, but the blackness in the middle was clean.

Her
body tensed, reacted as if she should run. With wide eyes, she surveyed the
area. People on chairs and benches were scattered through the large room. Broken
windows and shattered glass doors at the entrance looked out upon a gray day.
The other way revealed an opening to a courtyard type parking lot with long
carports on the perimeter.

A
young, Goth-looking cashier with black hair, white makeup and piercings in her
lips, eyebrows and ears, gaped at her as if she had grown a pair of horns and
sprouted a third eye in the middle of her forehead.

Hope
wavered, trying to reconcile what was happening. She knew her name, knew that
she had a family and wanted to be a dancer?
But anything else?
“Where am I? How’d…how’d I get here?” Her voice faltered over the questions. She
stared at the teen.

“You in the ol’ bus term.”
The
goth
snapped the gum in her mouth.
“How ya got ‘ere is beyon’ me.
Ya jist kinda appeared outta nothing.”

Another
teen in his
goth
phase came up to them.
“Yeah.
Poof.
There you be.
Totes mcgotes cray-cray.”

“But
I don’t want to be here.” Tears of frustration pooled in Hope’s eyes. She
swiped at them. She was tired. She was hungry. She was dirty and hot. In the time
she’d been in the bus station, dry, oven-like air had sapped all the moisture
from her skin. She believed she was a walking piece of water-depleted, brittle
clay, which would crumble into dust and blow away with the slightest touch.

“Then
flash on outta ‘ere like ya did to git ‘ere.” The
goth’s
voice was monotone with no vestige of sympathy.

Hope
closed her eyes, did her best to picture a place to go to, but none came to
mind. Try as she might to ‘flash on out,’ she continued to stand amongst a
bunch of uncaring strangers.

The
goth
shook her head and ran her black-nailed fingers through
her hair. “Guess ya usin’ the door like the rest o’ us.” She chomped on her gum
a few times,
then
tilted her head toward the exit.

Hope
clenched her teeth to squelch the sob rising in her throat. “Go out into the
heat? Isn’t it a wasteland out there?”
Great,
one piece of memory and it’s about how Las Vegas had been destroyed
.

The
girl shrugged, cracked her gum and walked away.

A
disturbed laugh erupted from Hope. She spun around, clutching her hands
together until they were white-knuckled. The destitute people gave her no
notice. Still cackling, she lumbered toward the exit.

Manic
hysteria is better than ear shattering wails
. The lie she attempted to tell herself didn’t help
her mood. Hope burst through the doors into the desert city. In her haste and
confusion, her focus wasn’t where it needed to be. She ran into a person
standing outside.

“Whoa,
honey, watch your step,” a husky, but sultry voice cooed.

Hands
gently grasped her arms and steadied her. “I’m sorry ma’am.” The woman who held
her came into view. Kind eyes over a motherly smile stared at her. Misery
finally won out. Warm tears spilled down her dusty cheeks.

“Oh, dear.
Honey, it’s okay. No harm, no
foul,” the woman crooned.

“I’m
so…so tired…so tired,” she gasped in between body racking sobs.

“It’ll
be okay, sweetie.”

“No.
No, it won’t.” Hope caught her breath and wiped the damp from her cheeks. “I
was trying to get to…to…and the bitch in there…” She whipped her arm back and
pointed her finger. “She tells me to... Damn. I don’t remember a thing. What’s
happening to me? I don’t remember where I was. I know who I am. I know that
this isn’t where I wanted to end up.” Hope scraped her hands through her hair.
“But I don’t remember where I wanted to go. I have no money. I don’t know what
to do.” Right as she finished her tirade, her stomach growled.

“Seems you’re not only tired, but
hungry as well.
The name’s Ruby.” She held out her hand.

“I’m
Hope.” She accepted Ruby’s offered hand.

“Well,
Hope, welcome to Las Vegas. I was just about to go buy some lunch. How ‘bout if
you come join me?”