Trance (21 page)

“What’re you gonna do?”

A good question I hadn’t given serious consideration to. Waiting for Specter to attack again was stupid, but we had no way to locate him. Not until he wanted to be found or came at us again. Knowing he could enter the mind of any of us if we dozed off and use our powers against the others frightened me more than I would ever admit.

We had no safeguards against a psychokinetic attack.
The HQ had all kinds of modern surveillance methods that worked best against active powers and physical intruders. Sensors could not detect one mind entering another. The technology didn’t exist, and none of us possessed that particular ability.

Gage had made an astute observation an hour ago—so much of our past was still hidden from us, and we had no living mentors from whom to learn. Corps archives were tucked away in the basement of the Medical Center—the official storage place of Corps history. Team photographs, plaques dedicated to those lost in the line of duty, commemorative items for battles fought and won—all once proudly displayed in the Base and the Housing Unit—were now packed away in boxes and bins. Covered in bubble wrap and old newspaper, remnants of a glorious past laid to rest. Records and personnel files, old medical histories, mission reports, diaries, any number of documents were down there as well.

I didn’t fear the past, but I’d spent years running from my own, fraught with failures and mistakes. I didn’t need to see the failures of our predecessors neatly encased in glass shadowboxes, testaments to everything we’d lost. No, the past was best avoided for now.

I had to focus on the present, because until we discovered something to help us defeat Specter, we were sitting ducks. I said, “I’m honestly not sure. You don’t worry about it, Ethan. Just get better.”

I leaned down and kissed his forehead. His eyelids fluttered, then closed. I sat a while longer, listening to his breathing even out and deepen, and wished him into a good dream.

We could all use a good dream or two.

S
he sleeps in the pale blue glow, deaf to the whir of machines sustaining her life; unaware of her companion, who is a shape I cannot discern. He sleeps, too. The room is stark, undecorated, sterile. It feels like a hospital but different. They are forgotten here, in this room they have shared for many long years, as they have shared their lives. They only wish to help. It is all they have ever wished.

Help whom?

She sleeps on without reply.

I watch her as before and realize after a time that she is sweating. It dampens her forehead and cheeks. The room is warmer. Hot. Too hot, but I see nothing amiss. I smell something awful, dangerous.

Her companion makes terrible sounds, and then I see. His bed is engulfed in flames. She knows he is dying. He understands why, and he silently curses their killer. Their minds are linked, as they have always been.

Her eyelids fly open. The fire approaches her own bed. Her
luminescent eyes stare in hatred and accusation. Not at me. Through me.

Through the cacophony of voices and colors and lights—

I woke from the nightmare with a shout and fell right out of bed, managing to land hard on my left elbow. I lay there, dazed and panting. Damn it, I hadn’t meant to fall asleep. I certainly hadn’t meant to dream of that woman again. My subconscious was really starting to piss me off.

I worked my neck to get the kinks out, then sat up and checked the clock—close to 2:00 a.m. I hauled myself up using the corner of my bed. I’d come back to my room meaning to take a shower. Now all I wanted was more sleep.

My bedroom door banged open, startling the crap out of me, and a distraught Renee stalked inside. She was wringing her elongated fingers in an exaggerated manner, twisting them around into unimaginably gross knots and pretzels. Kicking the door shut with her boot and a bang, she flopped onto the foot of my bed and stretched her long legs out.

“I need sex, T,” she wailed at the ceiling. Her electric blue eyes shimmered with unshed tears. “Really, really need it, so why do I keep saying no? What is wrong with me?”

“I—What?” I just stared at her, willing her words to make some semblance of sense. “Um, Renee, I think you started mid-conversation here. Want to rewind and try again?”

Her head listed toward me, lips pressed tight. Since I remet her, Renee Duvall had struck me as the most carefree,
roll-with-the-punches person imaginable, not unlike how she’d been as a child. Ready with a smile and a saucy quip, I didn’t expect the sadness I saw in her now. Or the utter frustration.

“I really like him,” she said. “Really, really like him, T. I mean, have you seen his ass? And his abs and his pecs, not to mention his yummy brown eyes? And holy shit, he’s a great kisser.”

“We’re talking about William, right?”

“No, Dr. Seward.” She shot me a look. “Yes, William. I mean, we were friends when we were kids, right? And ever since we met again, it’s like … I dunno, saying ‘sparks’ sounds stupid. There’s something there, T, and I don’t usually go all weak-kneed over a guy, but he’s not just a guy, right?”

Faced with a friend and her romantic problems, I came to an abrupt understanding of my own limited love life—I had no real advice to offer her, no previous girlfriend conversations on which to draw for reference. I’d dated casually, sure; however, my usual MO was to keep men at arm’s length. Letting them in—literally and metaphorically—hadn’t been an option for years. Not after being sold out by Kirk. He was why I resisted so hard when Gage made me go all gooey inside.

Renee’s admission that she wanted to sleep with William and hadn’t also made me smile inwardly. I guessed Gage’s veiled annoyance over their burgeoning relationship was a little premature.

I sat near my pillow, drew one leg up, and kept the other foot flat on the floor. Renee just stared at me, silently begging
for advice I didn’t have. I didn’t really know her. And it was a problem—maybe the only one on my plate right now—I could rectify with just a few direct queries.

“You’re attracted to William?” I asked.

“Oh yeah, in a big way.”

“And he’s attracted to you?”

“In an even bigger way.” To emphasize her point, she curled her fingers toward her thumb, creating an O that she gradually expanded to an impressive diameter. Her perfectly plucked eyebrows arched suggestively.

“So what’s the problem?” What’s the problem? Pot, meet kettle.

“Me!” Another plaintive wail sliced through the room. She sat up and bounced fully onto the bed, facing me with her legs folded beneath her. “I could be screwing him silly right now, but I left. I can’t believe I left! Why did I do that?”

Deciding that the question was rhetorical and not something I could even pretend to answer, I reached over and patted her knee. I wasn’t good at this. My sex talk consisted of jokes and innuendoes shouted between my fellow waitresses, at any of my various jobs, about the men they were sleeping with—size and positions and endurance. Those conversations never got serious.

Renee had come to me for advice, and I’d be damned if I sent her away without saying … well, something. “Renee, sweetheart, why did you leave?”

She looked so lost in that moment, so much like the little girl I remembered. “Because I don’t want William to be just another lay. I did the slut thing, T, and it got me into a lot
of trouble years ago. Everyone wanted to bang the blue girl. I want this to be different. I want him to be different, you know, and not just screwing me because I’m blond and sexy and have big tits.”

“Do you really think William likes you because of your breasts? Because when I see you two together, he’s looking at your face, not your boobs.”

A proud sort of smile cleansed some of the angst from her expression. “I just want this to be different. I mean, we’re heroes now, not just people.”

“Becoming heroes again doesn’t mean we completely stop being the people we were a week ago. No one switches personalities like that. We don’t stop being basket cases just because we have code names and uniforms and superpowers.”

If only a personality switch was so easy—then I’d have no trouble accepting my leadership role. I wouldn’t be terrified of letting everyone down because I was still a ten-year-old hiding from the bad guys. I’d be able to throw caution to the wind and just be with Gage—history be damned—without fearing what he’d think of me later. None of us would walk around with the invisible chains of our pasts weighing us down.

We each had pasts affecting our nows, and I was only just seeing it clearly.

Some leader that made me.

“Have you slept with Gage?”

Her point-blank question started me. My heart beat a little faster. “No, I haven’t.”

“Do you want to?”

“I think so.”

“Why haven’t you?” No accusation in her question, just an earnest sincerity—as if my answer would illuminate the reasons behind her own hesitation.

Instead of some convoluted reply, I surprised myself by letting the truth tumble right out of my mouth. “Because I have a hard time trusting men, and the last guy I slept with sold me out to the cops on burglary charges and got me twelve months in jail.”

She blinked. “Really?”

“Yep.”

“Were you guilty?”

“Mostly of being stupid, hence my self-imposed vow of celibacy. Dancing and drinking with a guy doesn’t carry the same emotional weight as sleeping with him.”

“I don’t know, T.” Her mouth twisted into a grimace. “I think I’d rather be a slut than a cock tease.”

I bristled, a flush heating my cheeks. “Dancing for a few hours and buying me a drink doesn’t give any man carte blanche to fuck me afterward, Renee. You were a stripper. Did you sleep with everyone you danced for?”

She blushed this time, coloring to an odd shade of purple. “That’s not the same thing.”

“No?”

“No, and I’ve seen Gage looking at you when you don’t see him. Do you seriously think that he’s capable of screwing you, and then screwing you over?”

My head jerked as if I’d been slapped, nudging me closer
to the limits of my temper. Renee saw in Gage the same things I saw in William. So why did William actively pursue what he wanted, while Gage played this strange dodge-and-dance with me? I hadn’t a clue.

And Renee was waiting.

“Do you think William will do the same to you?” I asked. “Screw you, and then screw you over?

We were coming at identical dilemmas from opposing sides, protecting our bodies and our hearts from the exact same thing—being hurt. For children who’d watched our loved ones die, who’d been ripped from the only lives we’d ever known, and who’d struggled to survive in a harsh, unforgiving environment, the reaction seemed shockingly normal. Those things were our pasts, though, not our present. We were all together again, doing what we were born to do, and it felt right. Renee and I—and indeed, the four handsome men in our lives—had to stop using the past as an excuse. The past was gone, slipping away.

If only actions were as easy as words.

“You’re right, T,” Renee said.

She shocked me by stretching out her torso and flinging her arms around my shoulders. I hugged her back—a little unnerved that she was still sitting four feet away and her spine looked like pulled taffy—grateful for the embrace. We’d have to answer the question by ourselves, and she seemed to have come to a happy conclusion. What it meant for William in the immediate future, I didn’t know; I just hoped he enjoyed himself.

As for Gage … I cared about him, more than I wanted
to admit. His kisses made the weight of the world fall off my shoulders and everything seemed easier. We’d be on the verge of something wonderful, and then he’d put up an emotional wall I couldn’t breach and only show me the parts of him he wanted me to see. He was hiding something about his past, which frustrated the hell out of me. He knew I was a convicted felon—my absolute worst secret.

What could be so awful that he wouldn’t tell me?

My imagination could certainly fill in the details, but I didn’t want to do that. I didn’t want to have to pry the answers out of him, either. He trusted me insofar as the job went. He just didn’t seem to trust me with his heart and the painful secrets he kept deep inside.

Frustrating didn’t even begin to cover it.

I did know one thing for certain, and it was an answer to Renee’s question. It hit me while she untangled herself and bounced to her feet, giggling at something in her head as she strolled to the door. After she’d gone, I let the answer bubble to the surface and my certainty in its truthfulness made me smile—Gage would never screw me over.

He might not be as open as I wanted, and I thought I could accept that for now—we’d known each other less than a week, after all. We had time to work out the kinks. And boy, we’d work them out sooner or later. I’d found a man I was very attracted to and who’d earned my trust by saving my life. I wouldn’t give up on him.

I had no particular destination in mind when I left my room, and my wanderings took me out under the night sky. In the middle of the property was a small park—although
park
was a kind word. It was a strip of grass among cement sidewalks, with a small sapling and an iron bench. I gravitated toward it for no real reason and sat down on the rusty metal. Wind whispered through the small leaves of the sapling like white noise. Perfect for sitting and trying to think.

I used to avoid thinking, which landed me in too many bars on too many binges—once this was preferable to pondering my miserable existence and trying to piece together the mess I’d made of my life.

No need to puzzle out my present life. It had been laid out in front of me in big letters that spelled out R-A-N-G-E-R C-O-R-P-S. My life and my future, without a doubt.

The mess lay now in how to protect my friends against an enemy we couldn’t see and couldn’t fight, and to find meaning in it all at the end of the day. Every time we claimed victory over one of Specter’s attacks, an innocent died. It wasn’t the way we wanted things; it was just how they happened. Specter needed a weakened mind. He could not inhabit a dead body, and when a body died around him, it weakened
him
. Created a need for a long rest. It gave us time—cold comfort for his victims. Our victims.