Vigilare (31 page)

“I couldn’t leave her lying there, the poor thing,” Dr. Godfrey adds empathetically. “Her pulse was so weak, she had lost a lot of blood. Surely a goner.” He turns around farther, his mouth curving into a smile as he makes eye contact with Gina. “Then I remembered, I had a living, breathing marvel in my lab—Vigilare. You saved her.”

“My blood,” Gina concludes. “You transfused my blood to Aubrey.” She shakes her head, the information a bit much to wrap her mind around. “Why can’t Aubrey be Vigilare? If you have her, why do you need me? I was happy with life as Gina DeLuca, Detective.”

Emily bites down on her lip, her head shaking scornfully. “Ingrate.” She hastily pulls the neck guard from her fatigues, revealing a crucifix hanging just below her collarbone. The shiny silver pendant catches Gina’s eye, momentarily piquing her memory—Lon’s exuberant face, mirroring hers after opening the small silk-lined jewelry box.

“What the hell is your problem?” Gina bears down on Emily’s frosty stare. “You wanna be Vigilare? Go ahead. I didn’t sign up for this shit!”

Emily says nothing. If looks could kill, Gina surely would be deceased.

Dr. Ryan pats Emily’s leg, which she pulls away. “That was the plan, initially.”

“I was the test dummy,” Aubrey offers up flippantly.

Dr. Ryan sends her a disparaging look, gathering herself. “After Dr. Godfrey saw how Aubrey responded with the transfusion of your blood, he called Mr. Truly.”

“Dad,” Emily corrects. “You can call him your husband. Could you be anymore uptight?”

“Emily,” William Truly speaks to her, his tone deep, reprimanding.

Dr. Ryan presses her head between her hands, wearing thin from the constant interruptions. “Anyway. After Emily was hospitalized, that morning, when she was found behind the dumpster.” A hint of emotion reflects in her eyes, an uncanny occurrence. “She couldn’t maintain her blood pressure. She has the rarest blood type, AB-negative. After several transfusions, and a general shortage of blood, I called Dr. Godfrey. He told me about you. And Aubrey. It seemed crazy, unreal.” She looks at Emily, scanning her with an affection only a mother would recognize. “When it’s your own, you’re willing to believe in anything. Imagine, your child supernatural, forever untouched by the pain, the tragedies that accompany life as we know it as humans.” Dr. Ryan leans forward in Gina’s direction, her body language full of adoration. “What you have, Gina, it’s a shield. You’re resilient to anything mortal. Superior in every way. The perfect defense. Nobody can hurt you, physically, without your immediate retaliation and triumph. I wasn’t trying to take anything from you. Certainly didn’t want to hurt you. I simply wanted what you possessed, your gift, for my daughter. For every daughter.”

“So, you propose to clone me?” Gina asks, her voice soft and understanding, yet morally concerned. “My blood? Where does it stop? How many others are there?”

“Nobody’s playing God here,” Dr. Ryan defends. “We’ve cloned nothing, simply transfused your blood into two individuals, who may have died otherwise, and who now have the power to make the world a better place, a safer place in the meantime.”

“ETNA. That’s what they were after. My blood,” Gina whispers.

Dr. Ryan nods her head.

“If they know, who else knows? And how many others do we have to fend off? And why did Dr. Shaw act as if nothing was extraordinary about my case? And why were you so suspicious and noncompliant during the investigation?” Gina rambles, questions attacking her mind faster than she can process them.

“When nothing is as it seems, you create the perfect defense,” Dr. Godfrey answers. “You knew nothing of the truth, providing you with integrity in your testimony. Obviously, that translated to the jury in their generous verdict.”

“With all due respect,” Gina begins, knowing she speaks to the man who saved her life. “Are you sure you simply didn’t tell me the truth because I would have rebelled. I wouldn’t have gone along with any of this. In my sane mind, as Gina DeLuca, I know it’s not right to go around baiting people to kill them. And maybe I wanted to die, and stay dead, with my husband and my son.” She thuds her hand against her chest passionately.

Emily shakes her head. “I told you she doesn’t deserve this power. She’s got no heart. I tried to tell you that when I was training her. Can I please do us all a favor? Two seconds, that’s all I need to open this door and boot her ass out.”

“If you want it so bad, take it,” Gina challenges.

“She can’t,” Aubrey defends. “It doesn’t work that way. Dr. Godfrey, Dr. Ryan and Mr. Truly planned this for almost three years,” she turns to Gina relaying the significance of the elaborate plan. “They took good care of you, Gina.” The first time Aubrey has spoken against her.

“I don’t understand. It doesn’t work what way? You...you and her have the same powers. I saw them, back there at the ravine,” Gina ponders.

“You’re the center. They’re support, if you will. Their primary powers to serve you. They don’t function independently,” Dr. Ryan explains.

Emily huffs, tormented by the fact.

“I’m a little telepathic. I can reach you, mind to mind, speaking through the eyes of course. Mine sparkle like yours. Same DNA and like color, Dr. Godfrey says,” Aubrey assists, waiting on Emily to elaborate. She does not. Aubrey continues, “And Emily’s kinda telekinetic. She reaches you, body to body. She can make you mimic her every move, if you’re so inclined. Her eyes don’t work like yours, though. Different DNA and color.”

Gina’s expression emits a bit of gratitude and sympathy, realizing the burden placed on the young women. Not unlike her, but akin in the complicated scheme. None of them actively choosing their roles, with little control over the outcome. “When you trained me?” she questions Emily.

Emily looks away, refusing to answer.

“Your martial arts training,” Aubrey explains. “Emily and Mr. Truly trained you. Some real hardcore, Navy Seal’s shit.” Aubrey smiles with enthusiasm. “It was amazing to watch. You and Emily. Pushing and challenging one another. Neither of you willing to give up. Both carrying a deep-seated desire to be the best. Just like at the ravine. It never gets old. Watching the two of you, your bodies cohesive. Always mesmerizing. Better than the ballet.”

“Why can’t I remember any of this?” Gina reasons aloud. “Flashes...snapshots, that’s all I get.”

“Extensive psychotherapy and hypnosis,” Dr. Ryan explains.

“Quite possibly reversible,” Dr. Godfrey adds. “We needed a clean slate. A new beginning, if you will.”

“A robot,” Gina quips.

“Bottom line,
Ginger
,” Emily begins, referring in slang to Gina’s hair color. “There’ll be no victims here. Either you’re in or you’re out. Your choice.” She folds her arms over her chest, eyeing Gina, knowing exactly how she would like her to opt.

“Choice?” Gina scoffs. “I’m dead to the world as Brianna Castille. And a fugitive no less, as Gina DeLuca, after that little showing at the ravine.” She looks out the window.

“Come on,
Ginger
,” Aubrey says playfully, poking fun at the hostility between her and Emily. “All families have some level of dysfunction,” she continues, looking around at the motley crew in the chopper. A lingering silence follows.

“Alright. I’m in,” Gina confirms. Looking from the window, she adds, “On one condition. The two men...”

“Lifers at the Louisiana State Pen,” Emily interrupts, confirming the whereabouts of the two men who murdered Lon and Braydon. “
Alcatraz of the South
,” she further elaborates on its infamous nickname.

“Done,” Dr. Ryan endorses.

Gina leans forward in Emily’s direction, her hand nimbly swiping the crucifix from around her neck.

Emily smirks with understanding and mutual respect, force, a concept she easily identifies with.

Gina holds the broken necklace and pendant securely in her hand, a tangible connection to her past.

Off in the distance, a desolate, spartan compound is visible. Buildings made of iron and stone hide in the foothills of rugged, mountainous terrain. A dwelling most suitable for a Vigilare.

Chapter 24

AT THE STATE correctional facility three-hours from Vanguard, Detective Tony Gronkowski waits in his police cruiser for a bus that never shows.

HOURS LATER, ROUGHLY midnight, upon his return home, he shaves in front of his bathroom mirror, capping off a much-needed long, hot shower. His mind busy with thoughts of the past few months—the case, Gina, Vigilare, the absence of her transportation. Preoccupied, he gets a little heavy-handed with his razor, nicking the skin on his jawline.

“Shit,” he mutters, rinsing the razor under the steady stream of warm water from the spigot.

The red, sticky substance slowly weeps from the cut to his flesh, running in a thin jagged line around the curve of his jaw and down onto his neck.

“Wooh,” he quips, shaking his head. “Ease up on the caffeine, Gronkowski,” he reprimands himself as his heartbeat hastens, resonant in his temples, brisk and steady, rhythmic like a drum. He thumps his hand against his chest a few times, agitated with the urgency by which his lungs suddenly require air in large quantities. Feeling faint, he leans onto the sink, breathing with great focus through his nose and out his mouth, attempting to squelch the adrenaline rush to his system. Burying his face under the spigot, he turns the water to cold, splashing it around him.

“Ah, much better,” he says, finally feeling some relief.

Returning to an erect position, he presses the blade to his face, his eyes making contact with the mirror. The razor immediately drops from his hand, its plastic surface tumbling off the sink below. His hazel eyes, reflecting colors around them as hazel eyes do, one in particular, sparkling emerald green.

Epilogue

So on it goes, the mission,

Understanding, finally, at last.

The Vigilare assumes her position,

A driving force comes to light in the form of her past.

Internal odds weigh heavily, a constant battle in her mind,

Remedied by visions, haunting nightmares, lurid dreams.

Is revenge truly sweetest? We shall see,

The future holds no boundaries for the supernatural, it seems.

In a world where nothing is as it appears,

Do the eyes, ‘the windows of the soul,’ hold the key?

Blood flows through good, as it flows through evil,

One Vigilare, two Vigilares? Could there be three?

A red hue emerges,

Where once it was only emerald green.

It rages, free of sparkle, a heavy, hungry light,

Merciless and destructive, arrogant and brutally keen.

To fall from grace,

Such is a divine one’s plight.

Be wary of your neighbor,

Tread softly, Vigilare, keeper of the night
.

Shout-Outs

Tammy – My first read. When I sent you the first half—the only half at the time—you said, “I can’t wait for the rest!” That fueled the spark, my friend. I think we’ve done that as long as we’ve known one another. A little push here, a little push there; challenging each other to grow, evolve. Thanks for the never-ending support and faith. I love ya, Tam!

Mom – “On the road again, just can’t wait to get on the road again.” Are you ready for another road trip, books in tow? We keep up at this rate, they’ll be calling us Willie & Waylon. Ha! I’ve really enjoyed our time together this past year. Thanks for your unwavering encouragement. I believe I wrote the most laborious part at your house. Nothing like the smell of coffee at Mom’s in the morning to get me in the zone! And thank you for listening and nodding your head appropriately at all of my rambling in constructing the plot. And Morgan’s rambling, too. That girl’s got an opinion about everything (just like her mother…I snicker). I love you bunches!

Ange-a-belle & Nett-a-bett – I know you thought I was the oddest little sister in the world, when I would go off into the corner and sing and write by myself for hours, but that never stopped you from rallying for me, always. Ange, thanks for the writing breaks aptly filled with delicious treats. I swear you should have your own show on the
Food Network
. And Nett, thanks for the much needed workouts—one, to equally exhaust my physical self as writing exhausts my mental self, and two, to burn off all those delicious treats
Betty
showers us with! Thanks for everything. I love you both, always and forever.

Amy Hess Mead – My first customer ever. Gives a girl a nice dose of confidence seeing that first order in her
Inbox
(I smile). I’ll never forget the feeling it gave me. Thank you for that moment. You’ve always been a great source of support for me. And I see you fulfilling that same role for your uber talented, respectful, beautiful children. They certainly are something to be proud of, Miss Amy. I love and admire you.

Janet Kilgore – Lovingly referred to as JK. Thanks for being my grammar and punctuation compass. Boy, would I ever be lost in the words (ie. woods…ha ha) without you. As always, I enjoyed your company throughout the editing process, which I might add is a most humbling experience for me. I’m thankful to have such a good teacher. I’ll be your “grasshopper” any day of the week! Looking forward to the next one.

Steve Richey – They say, “Don’t judge a book by its cover.” Unfortunately, I think most people do. And if that’s the case, then I have nothing to worry about, thanks to you! Kick-ass job with the cover, Steve. I love it! So thankful to come across you in film class. I hope this is the beginning of a long relationship in pagination and cover design.