The Darkness Within (13 page)

He’d been cut off from the world for so long, exposed to television more than to actual people. For the first half of his life his father had rented isolated homes. During the last half, they’d lived here in a house they owned, built in the middle of a large tract of land. Their social interactions consisted of brief forays into town.

Magnus made friends easily. He longed for the world, for contact. Lachlan had inherited the lack of need for others from his father. Dad could spend all day in his lab or out with the fungus. Lachlan did that with the old truck now, immersing himself in the process of restoring it. He’d done it several times before, resurrecting something old, rusty, and broken into something whole.

Something he could never do with himself.

He launched into a search for Jessie Bellandre, finding several mentions. One was a blog entry dated two years earlier in which her name appeared. The blogger was a sixteen-year-old with muscular dystrophy, talking about her experience at an MDA summer camp. Her counselor was Jessie, and the picture of the woman in a canoe matched the Jessie in the article, except she had blond, wavy hair. The camp was in Iowa.

After several more false leads, he found her again, this time in Nevada six months ago. Again, involved in a Muscular Dystrophy Association function. So she definitely had a connection with the disease. But what was the connection to the horror he’d seen? Why was she moving around the country so often, changing her looks? He kept digging.

He found three older mentions, all in the Boston area. In the two pictures, she had dark, long hair. At some point she started moving around and changing her looks. Why?

Given an age in one of the articles, he dug deeper and found something alarming: eleven years ago Jessie Bellandre, aged fourteen, died from a fatal form of muscular dystrophy. Someone had made a tribute page to honor children who had passed on, trying to drum up sympathy and donations. There was no picture. He went through several steps of finding the woman who’d put up the page. She no longer maintained it, having moved on to other projects, and all she could tell him about Jessie was that she had been a foster child, thus the lack of a picture.

Stymied, Lachlan stared at the tribute listing and then at the picture of her in the paper. They were the same age, or would have been. Both had lived in Boston. Now this Jessie—Magnus’s Jessie—had been resurrected as a woman who was clearly living a lie.

He grabbed his cell phone to call Magnus, but stopped. His brother would say it was a coincidence, even though it wasn’t a common name, and that he was stretching things to match his crazy scenario. He needed more. He was going to have to hunt her down.

Chapter Two

W
HENEVER
L
ACHLAN VENTURED
out into the world, he felt like a vampire, pretending to be like the others he walked among. Jessie’s current residence wasn’t listed in the phone directory, but he had a piece of insider information: he knew where she worked.

He walked into the store located in Annapolis, Maryland. It was damned hard not to seek her out the moment the door closed behind him and appear only mildly curious. No woman in sight. Bells dinged against the glass. The bittersweet sound of a violin flowed from somewhere in the back.

A man walked out and asked if he needed help.

Yeah, tell me what you know about the girl working for you.

“Just browsing.”

“I’m Glen, if you need anything.”

Lachlan gave the man a nod and wandered over to an impressive display of electric guitars mounted on the far wall.

Her voice reached out to him, like a ribbon wrapping sinuously around his stomach. It was soft and sweet and full of her smile. He could tell even before he saw her.

“Look, you brought tears to my eyes, Charles. That was incredible.”

Lachlan turned and felt a trip in his heartbeat at the sight of her. She was walking from the back with another woman and her young son, who was holding a violin case and beaming with pride. Smitten, too, judging by the way he looked at Jessie.

Her eyes were misty, all right. She knelt down to his level. “When you’re a famous superstar, will you still remember the girl at the music store?”

The boy laughed and gave her a quick hug.

“Yeah, she has that effect on most of the males who come in here.”

Lachlan turned to Glen, startled to see that the man was talking to him. Lachlan was about to deny the smitten part but laughed it off instead. He pretended to peruse the drum kits displayed in front of a wall of mirrors. Between the electric guitars that hung over them, he could watch her reflection. She was even prettier in person, her eyes glowing with sincerity and admiration. She wore slim black pants that outlined a luscious figure and a black top with grunge-style ruffles.

She died eleven years ago.

Or was pretending to be someone else. Either way, combined with what he’d seen in his projection, he didn’t like it, despite her innocent appearance. Likely, it was all a show, along with playing hard to get.

He shifted his attention away as she began to look up. He imagined Magnus sitting behind the blue kit, as he had for the last few years at the Sanctuary, banging away in the basement. Curls bouncing wildly as he moved the sticks so fast they were a blur. Bliss on his face. Once, Lachlan had tried his hand at it, when no one else was around. Good thing, too, he thought now, as he had not a speck of rhythm.

He caught his own reflection in the mirror. Holy hell, was that him? His hair was long and mussed, button-down shirt hanging loose over faded jeans with a square, ragged hole in one knee. He hadn’t looked at himself for a while, had avoided mirrors. Now he saw a stranger staring back at him.

“I’m going home for lunch,” Jessie said, leaning behind the counter and pulling out an enormous dark purple bag. She glanced his way, their gazes locking in the reflection for a second. She paused for just as long before turning away and leaving.

The trick was to leave right behind her without looking as though he was following. He reached for the tag on the brass cymbal, noticing the calluses on his hands.

“I know your type,” a man right behind him said.

Lachlan turned to face Glen, surprised to see a smile and not an accusation.

“Lives for the music, stays up all night playing the songs in his head. That was me, before the wife and kids and shop.” He gestured to the place in general.

“You’ve pegged me, dreaming on my lunch break.” Lachlan glanced at his watch. “Which, unfortunately, is over.”

He knew she’d gone to the right, and spotted her as she turned the corner at the end of the block. Lucky break, that. He jogged down the sidewalk, slowing as he took the same corner. She got into a big SUV, and hearing the locks snick as he passed by, he again fought the urge to look at her. He got into his truck, which did looked damned good, though he still saw all the things that needed to be done yet.

Lachlan didn’t take the time to revel in the purr of the engine, the only real pleasure he allowed himself. He was too busy watching the rear of Jessie’s black Yukon as he followed her into an apartment complex some ten minutes later. He parked several spaces away and observed her jump down from the vehicle and take the stairs two at a time. She disappeared into unit 14B on the second floor.

Lachlan knew he would find the answers in her apartment. He tried to astral-project to her apartment but once again failed. Had the projection been a tease? His imagination? The thought tightened his chest. The picture of Jessie triggered the projection last time, but now that he was near her, he couldn’t get it to work. He’d have to break in the old-fashioned way. He had done it before, every time his dad locked himself out of his lab, sometimes leaving not only his key in there but the backups as well.

Jessie remained inside long enough to eat lunch and then reemerged. He could understand why Magnus was smitten with her. Her hips moved eloquently as she walked to her vehicle. Interestingly, she scanned the parking lot, not paranoid exactly, but wary. When she drove off, Lachlan remained.

He carried a toolbox and appeared to be looking for an address. After knocking on her door, he identified himself as the handyman she’d called and pretended to converse with her through the door.

“The dispatcher said you can’t get the door to open . . . Okay, no worries, I’ll get you out of there.”

He worked on the lock with the pick kit. When he opened the door, he continued the “conversation” as though she stood right there inviting him in to work on the knob.

The apartment was small and sparse, with generic furniture. Coupons littered the two-seater kitchen table’s surface, each cut in a neat square and stacked in categories like food and household items. Several magazines lay on the counter, one open to a recipe for buttermilk biscuits. The one on top had the address square cut away. A To Do list had several bullet-point items scribbled all over it.

In the small living area, a sewing kit sat by the recliner, lid open to reveal spools of thread and a red heart-shaped pincushion. Juxtaposing the domestic ambience, a stack of well-read love novels on the end table sported covers with couples in provocative poses. So she liked the steamy stuff, eh?

Even further from the norm, a gymnast’s mat filled a corner, a punching bag hanging above it. Several DVDs on karate were stacked by the television. Bars and a fine steel mesh reinforced the windows.

Ah, now he was getting somewhere. Someone had drawn a cross on the wall, four lines and a small circle in the middle. He looked around more closely. At the bottom of the stack of novels he found a hard-bound notebook, ragged with use. Sketches of demonic beings filled the pages, each identified as creatures like werewolves and shapeshifters. Many had X’s through them. He took pictures of a few pages with his cell phone, then one of the cross.

He took a few steps into the only bedroom. Not a lot of personal effects here either. A framed picture, fuzzy blanket, a small stuffed penguin on the made bed that looked like it had seen years in the clutches of a child. The sight of it stabbed him in the chest for some reason. He saw no other signs of a child living here, so it had to be hers. He took a picture of that, too.

A key slid into the lock at the front door. Lachlan stepped out of view, watching as she dashed into the kitchen and grabbed some papers on the counter. The vision flashed through his mind again, this woman standing over his brother’s body, and he reacted. He crossed the few feet, catching her eye with the movement, but he already had his arms around her waist before she could get in a kick. She pitched all her weight forward, throwing him off balance enough that she wriggled free. She spun, with a roundhouse kick to his side. Pain exploded, making him grunt. He regained his balance, finding her bouncing on her feet, fists raised, ready to attack.

Both fear and anger blazed in eyes a rich blend of green and chocolate. No sign of that sweetness now. A ruse, as he’d expected. She jabbed, and when he backed up, kicked. He grabbed her foot and sent her stumbling backward. She twisted, slamming sideways into him using karate moves she no doubt practiced on that mat. She was strong, and it hurt. It also felt good in a strange way.

He grabbed her arms, clamping them against her sides. She swiveled, shoving him against the wall and, with that split second of freedom, made to run toward the door. He grabbed her shoulder and yanked her back, intending to pin her against him. She twisted her ankle and pushed his foot enough to send him to the floor, her along with him. They crashed, both taking the brunt of the fall. His arms locked around her.

They ended up with her on top, her back plastered to his front. As she struggled to free herself, her ass ground against his pelvis. Of all damned things, the movement shot heat through him. This was a fight, not sex. But he was thinking about sex, which was crazy.

She brought her elbow down, but he blocked before she could dig the point into his side. He was too breathless to talk, too focused on winning. She shoved her hip sideways and kicked his leg, shooting pain up the length of it. This time she was able to roll to the side and gain her footing, jumping to her feet. He was right behind her and grabbed her again.

He shoved her against the wall, hearing her breath whoosh out of her. Didn’t matter; she made to ram her knee into his groin. She was a fighter, and a practiced one at that. She hadn’t hesitated to fight him. He used his body to hold her to the wall, grabbing her flailing arms and anchoring them at her head level. Their heavy breathing was synchronized, and with each breath, their bodies pressed tighter together. Her breasts, soft and round, nipples hardened, sent heat pulsing through him.

Bloody fine time for that.

She wriggled again, aiming a deadly look at him. The look didn’t kill him, but it heightened the heat. He had the insane urge to grind into her but held himself in check. What the hell was wrong with him? He’d numbed himself to anything sensual, any desire, and here he felt it with this potentially homicidal woman.

She tried one last time to jerk up her knee, and his pelvis mashed even harder against her. Good God, he felt an erection, the first one since—

“I won’t be an easy rape, you son of a bitch,” she spat out at him, still breathless. “Is this what Russell’s doing now, sending crazed rapists after me?”

Rape? Of course, his wayward cock. “I’m not going to rape you. I want to know why you’re going to kill my brother, Magnus.”

She blinked in confusion. “Magnus?
Kill him?
Are you crazy? I have no intentions of
killing
him.”

“I am a little crazy, actually. I saw a vision of the future, you standing over his body.” No need to go into any more than that.

“You saw a vision. As in a crystal ball type vision?”

“Don’t look at
me
like I’m the strange one. You’re obviously into some weird stuff. What’s the symbol mean?” He nodded toward the sort of cross. “Are you a devil worshiper?”

Her laugh was hoarse. “No.”

“Why didn’t you scream for help, even when you thought I was a rapist? What are you hiding?”

Something happened. One moment they were there, him pressing her against the wall, and the next all he saw was a black blur and then he was thrown across the room. He hit the wall and slid to the floor. He blinked, stumbling to his feet even though every muscle in his body screamed in pain.

She stood where she’d been, eyes wide and mouth trembling. “Get out of here. I would never hurt Magnus. Just get out of here.”

The energy in the room had changed, sparking and electric. She was scared of whatever had happened.

Lachlan rubbed his shoulder. “What did you do to me?”

“Get out.”

Or she’d do it again? No, she hadn’t exactly said it as a threat. Still, it was a threat nonetheless. He glanced at the symbol and then at her. Her hands were clenched into fists at her sides. Now her whole body shook, as though she might explode. She took deep breaths, making her chest rise and fall.

He walked out, watching her the whole time. He had astral-projected into many different places and time periods, into battles and even one of the Holocaust camps. He had never felt this kind of energy.

She
was
dangerous. He got into his truck and drove directly to Magnus’s new flat.

J
ESSIE STOOD IN
her apartment for a long time, letting the trembles rumble through her body. Everything that had just happened washed across her mind, pulsing like a strobe. Fear of dying, of being raped, and then the bizarreness of the man’s accusation. He had triggered her Darkness, which scared her as much as anything else.

She took a deep breath and looked around for the papers she’d come back for. They were all over the floor. It hurt to bend down and grab them, and she winced.
Wince all you want now, because you can’t when you get back to work
.