Wrenching Fate (3 page)

Phoenix, Arizona

Major
Frances Milbury of the Covert Operations Assassinations Team— COAT for short— clenched the arms of his chair so tightly that the stumps of the severed fingers on his left hand were as white as the intact knuckles on his right.

He spoke slowly to keep from
screaming at his former university rival. “You mean to tell me you’ve been sitting on this for
three years
and it didn’t occur to you to notify me?”

FBI Agent Joe Holmes, head of the Abnormal Investigation Unit (AIU), reclined behind his desk, blue eyes twinkling at the man’s ire. “I didn’t have to. The body and evidence we found is so far outside COAT jurisdiction it’s laughable.”

Milbury sneered. “You don’t have the ‘jurisdiction,’ nor the security clearance to decide what is and isn’t a concern to our department.”

Holmes grinned with his usual obnoxious cheer. “Come now, I’m doing you a favor in revealing our findings. A little gratitude should be forthcoming.”

“The lateness of this ‘favor’ could have compromised my investigation!” Milbury slammed his good fist on the desk. “Who knows what crucial evidence was lost?”

Holmes sighed and ran a hand through his unruly white hair. “I say again, the victim was a civilian. He was, in fact, a serial killer the FBI had been trying to catch for years. More than that, he was beaten to death by a creature with supernatural strength, which is why my department was called rather than yours. What connection to the military could be seen in this?”

Milbury rolled his eyes. “So you thought one of your ‘monsters’ killed him.”

The AIU investigated crimes committed by what they believed
to be supernatural beings such as witches, vampires, and God knew what else. Milbury saw it as a waste of taxpayer dollars.

Holmes gave him another superior smile. “Yes, we did. But the DNA didn’t match a vampire’s. Too many red cells and too…
engineered
, for lack of a better word. Which brings me to a question: What has your department been cooking up that has you looking for a nineteen year old female with no military association? And why are you so interested in the remains we’re storing?”

Milbury’s temper receded as triumph and anti
cipation seeped in. “Was the DNA found on the victim female?”

“It was,” the scientist admitted in a cautious tone.

Francis smiled tightly. “I could tell you the information’s classified, but I’ll humor you and ask, why did you call to inform me of this victim when I sent out memos describing the girl? The remains are of an older male, correct?”

Holmes chuckled and adjusted his horn-rimmed glasses. “You’re lucky I even read your note. Runaways aren’t our specialty. However, the COAT letterhead piqued my curiosity. All that aside, let’s say I found a possible connection.”

“I want everything you have released to me immediately,” Milbury demanded.

Holmes shook his head. “Not so fast. It’s still my property. I can, however, give you full access to my lab and all files and evidence pertaining to this case…
if
I feel like it.”

Milbury wanted to knock him in the teeth. “What do you want, Joe?”

“I want in on this.” All of Holmes’s usual cheer was abandoned, giving way to implacable determination.

“You want in
how
?” Francis knew, but had to ask. He couldn’t afford misunderstandings.

“I want to perform the research and testing on this woman. I want to know how this mutation works.” Holmes’s gaze filled with scientific zeal.

Milbury’s eyes narrowed. “What makes you think I’d be authorized to let the Feds in on this?”

Joe smirked. “Because
you
came. Not a scientist or even a doctor. I’m willing to bet you don’t have either on your staff. In fact, I’m not so certain your superiors even know we’re having this conversation.”

Francis sighed in effort to hide his prickle of unease. Damn the rat bastard, he was right. Milbury’s department was a cleanup crew for “loose ends.” All Francis had were paper pushers and assassins— and since the budget cuts, very few of those.

Holmes had him by the balls and he knew it. Somehow, the slimy Fed had done his homework and knew how low the COAT had sunk in this last decade. Still, Holmes didn’t know everything.

Like what happened to the scientists who’d engineered the serum with which the girl’s father had been injected.

“The technology in my lab is superior to all others,” Holmes insisted. “And as for finding the girl, I have connections you don’t.
Civilian
connections.”

Milbury pretended to agonize before snarling, “All right! But we must involve as few people as possible. Now show me what you’ve got.”

Holmes donned his lab coat, resembling a mad scientist with his bug-eyed glasses and unruly white hair. “You sound like a drill sergeant when you’re pissed, you know that? Now, if you’ll follow me, I’ll show you all, explain it to you in laymen’s terms, and even tell you what we should do next.” His shit-eating grin grated on Francis’s nerves.

They headed down a long corridor, jostling other employees who rushed by, tapping clipboards against their hips as ID badges bounced on front pockets.

When they reached a door adorned with warnings and authorized personnel signs, Holmes pushed a few buttons by the handle. A laser scanned his retinas before the door opened with an unassuming click.

The lab was pristine with its gleaming stainless steel tables and gurneys. Several computers lined one wall, white cupboards and file cabinets stood against another. The far end contained drawers right out of a morgue. Holmes pulled a file and went to a computer, fingers flying across the keys, looking far too cheerful in such sterile surroundings.

“Where was the body found?” Milbury asked when the scientist began whistling.

Holmes didn’t look up from the screen. “In a ditch, off a road near I-90, just outside of Bozeman.”

“She was last seen in Colorado, almost twelve years ago.” Milbury said, shaking his head in wonder. “I thought she’d have gone further by now.”

Agent Holmes eyed him intently, waiting for him to continue. When Francis didn’t speak, he shrugged and got back to business. “I think I’ll show you the crime scene photos and files first, before we move on to the bone and tissue samples.”

Holmes laid glossy photographs on the desk. The body was depicted at every possible angle, with a close up on each part of its anatomy. The colors were bright against the lab’s white and silver background.

At first it was difficult for Francis to make sense of the images. It was as if his brain wouldn’t accept what his eyes were seeing.

Eventually the colors and shapes came together. In place of the victim’s head was a shapeless blob of bone shards, brains, blood and skin. It looked like his grandmother’s goulash. He made out what might have been a nose. Bile rose up in his throat. He forced his gaze down to close-ups of other parts. The torso and upper arms looked strange, like deflated balloons. The corpse’s pants were down, revealing a flaccid penis coated with dried blood.

Francis gagged and wiped his brow, turning away from the grotesque photographs. The room seemed hot despite the low hum of the air conditioner.

“Fascinating, isn’t it?” Holmes seemed to enjoy his discomfort. “This girl must have had immense strength to cause such damage to a man that size.”

Milbury quivered in outrage. “Haven’t you any respect? This was a human being!”

The AIU agent shook his head, expression sobering. “Not this one. Despite his species being
homo sapien
, this man was a monster. His DNA was linked to twenty-seven murders. His victims were brutally raped; some were children. And with all the hymeneal blood and tissue we dug out of his pubic hair, I’d say the bastard got what he deserved.”

“God that’s disgusting!” Milbury could feel his face turning green.

“That’s forensics, and it’s how we catch bad guys.” Holmes retorted.

Hymeneal blood….
Francis tensed. “Wait. You mean he raped the girl? She would have been about sixteen.”

Some of the pity Milbury felt for the man drained away. He had a niece that age. Still, he wondered if anyone deserved to die like that. And the evidence in front of him proved how dangerous this girl could be when provoked. With a traumatic thing like rape happening to her, who knew how unstable her state of mind could be?

“How did he overpower her immense strength?” The thought leapt in his head.

“We found a gun nearby with the victim’s prints on it. He must have threatened her with it. She likely disarmed him while he was pulling up his pants.”

Milbury’s mind raced as he made plans on how to subdue the girl once he found her. “Tell me more.”

BANG-BANG-BANG! The deafening noise made Akasha jump out of her chair, knocking the plate of remaining birthday cake to the floor.

Her eyes snapped to the window.

A shower of bullets assaulted her parents. Blood-bright red and angry, spewed everywhere, splattering the trailer and staining the snowy ground. A bullet struck her father’s shoulder and he screamed. Another went through his stomach, making him fall to his knees. There was another bang. The side of his head exploded and he collapsed.

“Akasha run!” A bullet pierced her mother’s throat and with a feeble gurgle, she fell.

Ping-Ping-Ping! Bullets assailed the trailer. Akasha saw a group of men in black uniforms wielding guns. They came closer. While they examined the bodies she ran. One of the men shouted. Footsteps pounded behind her. Her spine tensed and burned as her stomach roiled with terror, but still she ran.

***

Akasha awoke to a tear-soaked pillow, aching from the memory. Panicked, her eyes darted across the room.
Where the hell am I?
The lavish furnishings were so alien she might as well have been in a spaceship. Chest tight, she struggled to remember. As the last vestige of the dream bled away, she remembered Mr. McNaught with his suspicious kindness— and unnerving good looks.

It seemed she’d survived the night in his dubious care…and most of the day as well from what the bedside clock read. It was a little after noon. Torn between gratitude and confusion that her new guardian didn’t wake her, she climbed out of the massive bed. Grabbing her backpack, she headed to the bathroom, double checking the lock on the door.

Once dressed, she cautiously opened her bedroom door and headed downstairs, eyes darting in all directions. McNaught was nowhere around. He’d said he was away all day, but it was strange that it applied to weekends as well.

Akasha shrugged.
The less I have to deal with him, the better.
As she grabbed a banana from the fruit bowl in the massive marble-adorned kitchen, a thought gave her pause.

I better search this place. See if he has any dead bodies in the basement, or torture porn under his bed.
Her stomach roiled, whether from guilt or fear at the thought, she couldn’t tell. The rising tremor of curiosity about the handsome prince of this fairytale castle was harder to ignore. Finishing the banana, she headed back upstairs, deciding to work her way down.

As she walked down endless corridors it occurred to her that there was something she had to do tomorrow, but with her world being turned upside-down last night, she couldn’t remember what it was. The nagging feeling continued as she opened door after door to empty rooms. A surge of fury roared through her at the blank white walls and uncarpeted floors.
How the fuck am I supposed to learn anything from this?
The vacant spaces seemed to mock the blank in her memory.

Whatever it was she had to do, it was important.

Grinding her teeth in irritation, Akasha had to concentrate to avoid crushing the next doorknob.

“Finally a room with something in it.” As soon as the words left her lips, Akasha’s eyes widened.

From the mega king-size bed, masculine furnishings, and swords on the walls, this had to be Silas McNaught’s bedroom. Heat filled her face as she stepped further. She’d never been in a man’s bedroom before. Well, except for Max, but he didn’t count.

The bed was as pristine and militantly tucked as one in a luxury furniture store. One could almost think he didn’t sleep in it. Still, Akasha ducked to peek underneath and swept her hands under the mattress. No dirty magazines there, not even a freakin’ dust bunny.

She checked the end table drawer and found nothing but paperback novels, issues of
The Wall Street Journal
and various business magazines. No
Hot Rod
or
Motor Trend
for him. But at least he was a Stephen King fan. That was one of her favorite authors.

Further exploration only turned up a closet full of designer clothes likely worth more than her life and a luxurious bathroom with a Jacuzzi tub she could almost swim in. The only sense of a personality in this decadent suite was the books and the swords.

Elaborately decorative and obviously medieval antiques, the blades simultaneously complemented the décor but gave a warning. Lines from a Rolling Stones song played in her mind.

Please allow me to introduce myself. I’m a man of wealth and taste.

“But don’t fuck with me,” she added on her way out of the room.

The main floor was at least fully furnished, and with a little more personality. The entertainment center held a collection of war movies and historical documentaries as well as an impressive collection of eighties music. Akasha shook her head. She would’ve never taken McNaught as an
Oingo Boingo
fan.

The exploration nearly cut short when she encountered the library. Floor to ceiling books filled the room and a pair of overstuffed recliners surrounding a cheery fireplace beckoned her to curl up and escape from her confusing situation.

“No.” Akasha straightened her spine, resolving to keep looking. “I don’t trust him.”

She hit the jackpot when she found the office…or rather she would if she understood anything she saw. The calendar on the wall listed only initials and times. McNaught’s file cabinet was impressive with all the stocks and bonds it held, but she already knew he was rich…okay, she didn’t know he was astronomically rich, but that didn’t explain his motives.

Her file was incredibly out of place amongst the account statements and certificates of accruing wealth. Akasha flipped through the pages. A lot of meaningless “ward of the state” documents, her mug shot, criminal record, health records— and her psych evaluation.

“Anxiety, chronic insomnia, night terrors, possible mood disorder…” she muttered, fighting off a pang of humiliation. “Yeah, I sound like a real angel.”

The file barely scratched the surface of her dirty secrets, yet it painted her character well enough. Akasha thrust it back in the cabinet with a shiver of self-disgust.
How could McNaught want me under his roof after reading that?

She froze, terror uncurling in her belly.
Could he have something to do with the cocksuckers who killed my parents?
Forcing back a drowning tide of panic, she willed herself to remain practical.

If there was anything to be learned, doubtless it would be on the computer. Akasha glared at the cold gleaming monitor. Computer class was the only damn subject she struggled with in school.

Akasha’s breath came out in an irritated sigh. “Where’s a fucking computer whiz when I need one?” If only her best friend Xochitl was here to at least show her how to log onto the damn thing.

Eyes widening, she whispered, “
Xochitl
,” drawing out the syllables of her friend’s name slowly: “
So-she
.”

How you get that out of such a fucked up combination of letters, I’ll never know.
Closing her eyes, she remembered the night she’d made her first friend at the group home.

Akasha had just snuck back into her attic bedroom to find a small form huddled on the usually vacant bed next to hers. It had been none other than Xochitl Leonine, aspiring rock star and one of the few other students in the dual enrollment program.

“My mother died tonight,” Xochitl had explained numbly before sobbing in Akasha’s arms. A strange sense of rightness had marked the moment, and never left. Bound by mutual pain, the two had been inseparable since then.

Now, Akasha dug her wallet out of her pocket and found the crumpled scrap of paper with Xochitl’s new number. Xoch’ wasn’t a techno-geek by any means, but surely she’d do better with McNaught’s computers than Akasha could.

Taking the cordless phone from the mahogany desk, she dialed her friend’s number.

“Hello?” A gruff voice answered. Bill, Xoch’s new foster father. He’d had “asshole” written all over his face the first and only time Akasha saw him.

She struggled to keep her voice polite. “Is Xochitl there?”

“Who’s this?” he demanded. A football game cranked to full volume in the background made it hard to hear.

“Akasha,” she bit back a curse, wishing she’d lied. “I just need some help with my homework.”

Silence stretched over the line, punctuated by some loud sports announcer. “You’re not the one at the group home, are you?”

His tone implied he’d hang up if that was the case. At least she was able to answer honestly. She wasn’t there any more. “Nope.”

She could feel Bill’s hostility as he bellowed, “Xochitl! Some gal named Akasha wants to talk to you.”

At last, Xochitl’s voice came on the line. “What’s up?”

In case someone else was listening over the line, Akasha measured her words carefully. “I need help with the computer, can you come over?”

There was no computer for the inmates at the group home. Sure enough, Xochitl picked up on that. “Um, sure. Where are you?”

“You know that big hill off of 15
th
street by the freeway? I’m at the castle on top.”

Xochitl sucked in a breath. “Oh my God—”

Bill’s voice cut her off in another bellow. “Don’t say the Lord’s name in vain!”

Tremors overtook Akasha as a memory roared through her.

“You will learn the Word of God if I have to beat it into you, demon spawn!” Over and over, the heavy bible rained blows upon her head and back until she lost consciousness.

“’Kash?” Xochitl’s voice was tinny through the phone’s ear piece. “You still there?”

She swallowed back a load of bile. “Yeah, so you’ll come?”

“Yeah, I’ll be there in a few.”

After flicking random buttons on the electronic panel in the mudroom until the front gate opened, Akasha smoked and paced outside.

Ten minutes later, a light blue Datsun puttered up the hill, blaring hard core thrash metal. Xochitl’s grin was a balm on Akasha’s nerves. Tentatively, she smiled back, watching her friend maneuver the gearshift and steering wheel while holding a can of Red Bull in one hand and a cigarette in the other.

Xochitl pulled up in front of the garage and leapt out of her car in a flurry of black and purple hair. She waved off a cloud of blue exhaust smoke with a grimace. “Damn, Little Beast does not like hills.”

“The piston rings are probably shot.” Akasha eyed the car. “Probably your valve stem seals too.”

“Enough about the car unless you can fix her,” Xochitl wagged a scolding finger, displaying purple nails adorned with little black bats. “What the hell are you doing here?”

Akasha bit her lip, remembering her situation. “Apparently, I live here now. I was assigned a legal guardian.”

“No fucking
way
!” Her friend gaped. “Is your guardian here? What’s she like? Besides having killer taste in real estate?”

“So far I have no idea what
he’s
like. I only met him last night and he’s away at work all day.” Akasha lit another cigarette and explained the situation.

Xochitl’s eyes widened with dawning understanding. “So you want to search for dead bodies and kiddie porn and stuff?”

Akasha nodded, relieved that she wasn’t being paranoid. “I don’t trust him. He acts way too nice.”

“Well, I say we check out the basement first.” Xochitl scampered back to her car and popped the hatchback.

Before Akasha could ask what she was doing, Xochitl emerged with a deadly looking rifle, complete with bayonet. Black and white spots obscured her vision as ice filled her lungs. Her friend’s black trench coat was superimposed with the black uniform of her parents’ killers.

“Xochitl, what the fuck? Why do you have a gun?” She sputtered, cringing against her will. “Put that thing away!”

“Dude, it’s deer season.” Ignoring her plea, Xochitl loaded the rifle with long, lethal bullets and slid on the shoulder strap, adjusting the gun on her back. “What’s wrong, ‘Kash? You look like I busted out an A-bomb. Chill. I passed hunter’s safety four years ago, and if there’s anything dangerous here, we’re gonna need it.”

Swallowing a lump in her throat, Akasha nodded. “Okay, but as soon as we’re done with the basement, you gotta put it back.”

“All right. But damn, I never would have thought you’d be so freaked out. We’re in Idaho, for fuck’s sake, and you’re acting like some kind of—” Xochitl’s rant ceased as they entered the house. “Holy wealth, Batman!”

Akasha chuckled at her friend’s reaction, trying to ignore the rifle. “Okay, let’s check out the basement first, then I can give you the full tour.”

As they slowly made their way down the stairs, her body broke out in shivers at the way Xochitl pointed the gun forward like a trained sniper.

If she actually fires the thing, I swear I’ll lose my shit.

Thankfully, the basement was fairly empty. Besides a bathroom and a few storage closets, it was mostly cavernous space with a lonely pool table in the corner.

“Sweet!” Xochitl pointed the rifle at the floor and unloaded it with an expert hand before returning it to her back. “You totally gotta get a dart board down here.”