Archon's Queen (51 page)

“What are you trying to say?”

“What’s wrong with everyone, Pen? Why does everyone hate me?”

“Well you did kill a dozen men.”

She froze as if slapped. “How do you―”

“A short while after that man came about a job, some other bloke showed up. Said he worked for Carroll. He told us you’d gone off the deep end at some facility.”

“Pen, they took Faye!”

“Who?”

“Twee.” Anna shook Penny by the shoulders. “They kidnapped her, beat you and Spawny half to death and left you cinched up on the floor?”

“I…” Penny sank into the chair. “What?”

“Don’t be afraid of me.” Anna sobbed. “Blake… he…”

“Oh, Anna. Always crying.” Penny hugged her. “I’ll look after you, sprog.”

Anna lifted her head, her tears stopped cold. That was exactly what Penny said the night they decided to stay together.

“What?” She stood. “You’re shaking and covered in sweat. You… You think I’m going to hurt you?”

Penny looked up, eyes struggling to focus. “No. Anna, it might be better for everyone if you didn’t stay at Coventry.”

Startled shouts and explosions echoed from two floors up and two floors down. Anna let Penny go, walking backwards two steps.

“Penny… I thought you were my… sister.” The last word came as a defeated whisper. Anna spun on her heel and flew out into the hallway, blinded by betrayal and sadness.

Penny glanced at the bed. “I was gettin’ a new flat in town, was gonna invite ‘er to join us there.”

Spawny gave her a look as though she had suggested inviting the Devil to live with them. “Are you nutters?”

“I…” Penny touched her head. “That other man that came looking for Anna… He… I felt so strange when he looked at me.”

Anna half ran, half fell down the stairs until she was outside. An unfamiliar chime came out of her pocket; it took her a few seconds to realize she had an incoming call. Mr. Orange’s head appeared in hologram and stared at her unblinking. He seemed pale, robotic.

“Is this a bad time?”

She closed her eyes and looked away, her voice shaky but cold. “What?”

“I found something else you might want to see.”

She imagined her naked breasts bouncing through the air, Blake sweaty and grunting. Her body collapsed over the bike, propped up with her elbows on the seat. “Who’s screwing me this time?”

“The government, I’d say.” Orange’s facial expression didn’t change. His voice sounded rote and monotone. “That man you killed wasn’t your real father. He worked for the CSB.”

Thunder returned, and down came the rain―full and heavy.

rails of water ran along the clear plastic. Little hands poked out of them waving at her. The droplets cheered as they fell into the swirl around the drain. Anna slumped on the floor of the autoshower, having scrubbed herself raw wherever she imagined Blake touched her. She had tried to tell Penny. She had needed to tell Penny. She couldn’t tell anyone else what Blake did to her. Why, out of all the times did that bother her so much? Was being unconscious so different from held down by the authority of a constable?

I could always have stopped them if I wanted to… Blake left me no choice. He…

Her reflection mocked her, moving while she sat still. Pale breasts blotched pink from furious washing, they sprouted mouths and wailed at her for hurting them.

Anna’s head sagged forward as the machine started again. Pelted with hot water and soap, she tried to wash the filth out from inside her. The bathroom beyond the tube shimmered into a chaos of flashing lights and horny men cheering at her for touching herself. The autoshower, the dancing cage, had trapped her again. She cowered, trying to shield herself from their eyes, looking for a spot to hide in a room with clear walls.

Fingernails raked over her breast, drawing blood and breaking her free of the illusion of the club. She screamed at the self-inflicted pain and broke into sobs. Blood swirled in the water over her toes, leaping out into sanguine garter snakes that hissed and dove into the drain. She stared at her bloody hand as if it belonged to someone else, laughing as the trails of red outlined the zoom patch on her wrist.

Sharp burning pain pulled her away from the hallucinations, leaving her thoughts dull and muted. The trip had come on as hard and vivid as her first time. Doctor Heath was right; her brain didn’t know what to do with it anymore. As the rinse started for the fourteenth time, she clutched her knees to her chest and peered with a zombie’s eyes at the dead face mocking her from the glass.

Plonk coalesced through the darkness, his junk dangled over her reflected forehead. “You awright? What was that scream?”

Her skull wobbled upon numbed muscles. She looked at him; naked and shameless outside the shower, he made impatient gestures toward the door.

“Come on, girl. You’ve been in there for hours.”

Clinging like a lamprey, the suckling zoom patch reminded her of making a deal. Flashes of memory came and went; Orange’s news about the man she thought was her father had been the last straw to shatter everything. All that guilt, for nothing. So desperate to get away from shame and sadness, she had agreed to bed Plonk for a zoomer. Her account was empty and someone had pinched the credstick from her flat. A feeble grasp at the handrail pulled her into a kneeling posture, and she found the door release. She crawled into the cold air over tiles that felt like jellies until her shoulder stopped against his knee. He tapped a pair of furry handcuffs against her head.

“Wanna use the darbies?”

She murmured something unintelligible, not caring how he used her. The strength left her arms, sending her into the frigid full-body embrace of the bathroom floor.

When her senses returned to rights, she found herself face down on a warm Comforgel slab. Fire lapped at her left breast, but when she tried to cradle the burning, she found her arms locked behind her and a faux leather and chain leash tethering her by the neck to the headboard. Squirming onto her side, she moaned through clenched teeth as the sticky claw marks on her breast peeled away from the sheet. She cringed, grunting in a brief fight with the restraints. Unable to cradle the hurt, she blew on the damaged skin.

“Plonk? Lemme outta these fuckers.”
Ow, son of a bitch.
“I’m rather not in the mood. I’m about to blow chunder all over your bed.”

His reply floated down the hall. “One sec luv. Doorbell, prob’ly a client.”

Anna squinted at the doorway, curling fetal from pain. “Did we shag yet?”

Footsteps thudded farther away. “Oh, now who’s in a hurry miss four-hours in the bloody tube.” His voice rose to a yell. “No. You passed out straightaway. Awright, awright, keep your bloody knickers on, I’m coming!”

Electronic chirps preceded the sound of a door hissing open. Anna rolled onto her back, biting her lower lip as she tried to wriggle her wrist loose. Plonk murmured in the other room, his voice interwoven with that of another man he did not appear to know. Anna stared into the simmering grey ceiling, swishing her feet about and cursing him for using the cuffs. She liked the escape of feeling vulnerable and protected; at that moment, she hated herself for it. The more she thought about James finding her here, like this, the more she wanted to crawl into a deep, dark place and never come out.

Her eyes shot open at the thought of Agent Gordon.

She went to leap out of bed, jerked to a halt by the sex-shop leash. She fell flat, gagging from the crushing tightness around her neck. In her mind, it morphed into a choking tentacle. Several painful meetings between her legs and furniture knocked the room asunder as she screamed and thrashed at the restraints. In her zeal to pull away from the bed, she almost strangled herself. Zoom painted black phantoms in the window, evil hybrids of CSB aircraft, and something from the seventh plane of Hell. Black, segmented tentacles whipped and clattered at the glass. Insectoid hissing rattled through her brain. The leash changed shape; the drug made it look like the creature outside had her by the neck. She howled and strained, bracing a foot against the wall. As powerful as the drug was, she believed the hallucination choked her didn’t breathe. Desperate fear for her life caused her to shove with both legs against the wall. The imitation leather hand-loop at the end of the dog chain broke, sending her flying face first into the nightstand.