Otherworld 02 - Stolen (24 page)

I stopped short, words jamming in my throat. "I-I-"

"That's right. You're killing him. You're going to change into a wolf and hunt him." Winsloe stood and put a foot on Armen's back. "Is that a problem, Elena?"

For one brief second, I was certain Winsloe knew about my collaboration with Armen, that this was his way of foiling our plans, killing my ally, and letting me know that he knew, but I quickly realized that Winsloe couldn't know. Armen had been too shrewd, had kept our discussions well disguised. We hadn't progressed far enough in our plans for even the most quick-witted listener to realize what we were plotting. If someone had been listening, he would have only heard two people carrying on a conversation. With an icy jolt, I wondered if that had been enough. Had Winsloe overheard me with Armen and detected a blossoming friendship? Did that explain why he'd chosen Armen from all the other captives, risking Matasumi's displeasure? Why not take Leah or, better yet, Curtis Zaid, the useless Vodoun priest? Because it wouldn't hurt me enough. It wouldn't be sadistic enough.

Winsloe stepped closer. "I said, is that a problem, Elena?"

"Yes, it's a goddamned problem," I snarled. "I will not kill a man for your amuse-"

I reeled back. Felt the imprint of his hand burning my cheek. Stumbled. Recovered. Spun around, fist barreling toward his jaw. A bullet seared my side. Threw me off-balance, half impact, half surprise. Grabbed a tree. Broke my fall. Stood there, facing the trunk, chest heaving, a serpent of rage whipping through my body. I gripped the tree hard enough to puncture bark holes in my palms. Closed my eyes. Inhaled. Fought for control. Found it. Took deep breaths and stepped back. I dropped my fingers to my side and felt the wound. Straight through, nicking a rib and nothing more.

"One more time, Elena," Winsloe said, walking up behind me. "Is that a problem?"

I turned slowly, keeping my eyes off his. Winsloe gave a grunt of satisfaction, interpreting my lack of eye contact as a sign that I was cowed, not that I didn't dare look at him for fear I'd rip his face off if I did.

"Answer the question, Elena."

"I can't." Inhaled. Forced apology into my tone. "I can't do-"

I saw his hand go up, this time with the gun in it. Saw the pistol careering toward my face. I backpedaled but too late. The gun glanced off the side of my skull. Lights flashed. Then went dark. When I recovered, I was lying on the ground with Winsloe standing over me.

"This is how it's going to work, Elena," he said, leaning down into my face. "You're going to change into a wolf. Right here. Right now. Then you're going to hunt Mr. Haig. When you capture him, you will hold him until I arrive. Then you will kill him. Any deviation from this plan and you will both die. Understood?"

I tried to sit. Winsloe's foot landed on my stomach, forcing me down and knocking the breath from my lungs.

"It's-it's not that easy," I gasped between gulps of air. "I might not be able to Change. Even if I do, I won't be able to control myself once I catch him. It doesn't work that way."

"It will work any way I say it will work." Winsloe's voice held all the emotion of a golf pro explaining the rules of the course. "If you fail, you will answer to me. And when you're done answering to me, my boys will take their turn, and when they've tired of you, you die. Is that incentive enough, Elena?"

I started to shake. No anger now. Just fear. Uncontrollable terror. Killing Armen would be an act of cowardice I would never forgive myself for, even if I could do it. But if I didn't? Rape and death. To me, the idea of being raped was more terrifying than that of dying. Ghosts of my childhood filled my brain, voices that said I'd promised such a thing would never happen again, that I was too strong, that I could never again be forced to submit to anyone.

"I can't," I whispered. "I just can't."

I saw Winsloe's foot fly back. Squeezed my eyes shut. Felt his boot connect with my side, landing square atop the bullet wound. Heard a woman's scream. My scream. Hated myself. Hated, hated, hated. I would not die this way. Not raped. Not forced to kill an innocent man. If I had to die, I'd do it my way.

I flung myself up, throwing Winsloe clear. He landed on his back. I scrambled to my feet and turned on him.

"No!" A shout. Armen.

I whirled, saw Ryman raise his gun. Armen lunged at me. The gun spat a stream of bullets. Armen's body stopped in midair, chest exploding, body jolting with the impact. As he hit the ground, I dropped beside him.

"More merciful. For both of us." His voice was paper thin, too low for anyone's ears but mine. Bloody froth bubbled from his lips.

"I'm sorry," I whispered.

"Don't-" His eyelids fluttered once. Twice. Then closed.

I hung my head, felt tears clog my throat. In the silence that followed, I braced myself for what was to come. Winsloe would kill me for this. For attacking him. For ending his game. When I finally turned to face him, though, I saw only satisfaction in his eyes. He hadn't lost at all. The outcome was still the same. Armen was dead. It was my fault. I knew it and I'd suffer for it.

"Take her back to her cell," Winsloe said, brushing off his jeans. "Then get someone out here to clean up this mess."

As he glanced down at Armen, his mouth tightened and he skewered me with a glare. The outcome may have been the same, but his game had been ruined. I'd pay for it. Not tonight. But I would pay.

Ryman and Jolliffe led me into the forest. We were about halfway to the compound when Ryman suddenly shoved me hard. I tripped. As I steadied myself and turned to glare at him, I found myself glaring into the barrel of his gun. I clenched my jaw, wheeled around, and continued walking. I'd gone about five feet when a kick from Jolliffe cut my legs from under me. I stumbled against a tree and took a moment to compose myself before turning. Both men trained their guns on me.

"What do you want?" I said. "An excuse to shoot me?"

"We don't need one," Ryman said. "We just tell Tyrone that you made a break for it and we had to take you down."

"Like a rabid dog," Jolliffe said.

Both men laughed. Rage shot through me. What had happened back in that grove made me sick with guilt and self-loathing. I wanted nothing more than to find another target for that anger, someone else I could blame for Armen's death. These two morons were screaming for the job. I sized them up. Could I bring them down without getting shot? I estimated my odds at five to one. When those odds struck me as reasonably good, I knew I was in trouble. My rage was fast consuming my common sense. I tore my gaze away from the two guards and continued walking.

Ryman strode up beside me and grabbed my arm. As he slammed me against a tree, I started to lash out, then felt the cold metal of a gun barrel at my temple.

"Don't ever turn your back on me, bitch," he breathed in my face. "Cliff and I were looking forward to some fun tonight. You ruined it. Maybe Ty's willing to overlook that, but we aren't. Who the hell do you think you are anyway? Defying Tyrone Winsloe? Attacking him? Spoiling our game?"

"Take your hands off me."

"Or what?" He jammed his knee into my crotch. "What are you going to do if I don't?"

Someone chuckled to our left. "How about… rip out your fool throat, tear off your testicles, and carve you up like a Thanksgiving turkey. Not necessarily in that order."

We turned to see Xavier leaning against a tree, puffing on a cigarette. He threw down the stub, strolled over, and tugged me out of Ryman's grasp.

"You don't wanna be messing with this gal," Xavier said. "Did you see what she did to that other werewolf? Ripped his leg open… while wearing handcuffs. Now you boys might have guns, but I wouldn't want to see how much damage she could do before she went down."

Before either guard could open his mouth, Xavier hooked his arm around my waist and led me back to the open path, heading for the compound.

"She seems to tolerate you just fine," Jolliffe muttered as he walked up behind us. "Something we should be telling Ty about, Reese?"

"I'm not crazy enough to trespass on the big man's territory," Xavier said. "Can I help it if the poor girl's got a thing for me?"

He grabbed my ass. I whirled to slug him, but he vanished, reappearing on my other side.

"It's one of those love-hate things," he called back to the guards. Under his breath he murmured, "Play nice, Elena. You don't want me to take my marbles and go home."

He was right. As much as I hated being indebted to Xavier, he was the only thing standing between me, the two guards, and a potentially nasty situation.

Xavier rested his arm around my waist again and glanced over his shoulder. "Think Tyrone will let me have her when he's done? We could run away together, build a hut on some deserted island, live off coconuts, sunshine, and sex. What do you say, Elena? We'd make beautiful babies. Think about it. We could single-handedly turn wolves into a vanishing species."

"Ha-ha," I said.

Xavier paused, cocked his head. "No laughter from the peanut gallery. Guess they don't get the joke. Want me to explain it to you, guys?"

"We want you to fuck off, Reese," Ryman said. "Like right now."

"In front of you guys? I'm a demon, not an exhibitionist." Xavier walked a bit faster, propelling me alongside him. "Anyway, we're almost at the compound. Larry was wondering what happened. Getting pretty worried about his star subject. I volunteered for the search party. Think I'll win a prize?"

"Not when Matasumi finds out what happened to that star subject," I murmured.

Something flashed across Xavier's face, but before I could decipher the expression, it did its own disappearing act, hiding behind his usual cocky nonchalance. He kept up a running monologue until we arrived at the compound. Then Xavier took me through the security door, letting it bang shut on the two guards. We almost made it into the elevator without them, but Jolliffe grabbed the doors at the last moment. They got on and pushed the button for the cell block. When the car stopped on the middle floor, Xavier tried to lead me off. Ryman snatched my arm.

"Ty said return her to her cell."

Xavier sighed. "He meant the infirmary. That's where she sleeps now. He must have forgotten."

"He said the cell."

"He made a mistake."

The two men locked gazes. Then Xavier straightened up and leaned out the elevator door. Carmichael's voice and footsteps echoed down the hall.

"Doc?" Xavier called. "I have Elena here. These guys tell me Tyrone wants her taken back to her cell."

"He must have made a mistake," Carmichael said as she approached.

"That's what I told them."

Carmichael stopped in front of the open elevator doors. "Cliff, Paul, take Ms. Michaels to the infirmary. I'll be right there."

Xavier accompanied me to the infirmary and didn't leave until Carmichael showed up. He tried to stay longer, but she shooed him out, grumbling that my sleep had been interrupted enough and she needed my help in the morning. As he left, Xavier mouthed, "You owe me." I did. And I was sure he wouldn't let the IOU go unpaid.

As I settled onto my cot, Carmichael bustled around the room, prepping equipment and checking Bauer. Once she asked me if there was anything I'd like to talk about. There was, but I couldn't do it. I didn't want to see my guilt reflected in another person's face. A good man had died that night. He'd been shot by a vicious guard, after being sentenced to death by a sadistic tyrant, but ultimately the weight of his demise lay on my shoulders. I couldn't share that with Carmichael. The one person in the world I could have unburdened myself on was hundreds of miles away, fighting his own battles in a motel room. Thinking about that only reminded me how alone I was. Before Carmichael left, she fixed me a cup of tea. From the medicinal smell, I knew it contained a sedative, but drank it anyway. That was the only way I was going to fall asleep that night and I desperately wanted to sleep, to sleep, to forget… if only for a few hours.

After breakfast the next day, Bauer awoke.

I was sitting beside her bed, absorbed in my thoughts, as I had been all morning. When she first opened her eyes, I thought it was a reflexive action. Her eyes opened, but she didn't move, just stared at the ceiling, expressionless. Then she blinked.

"Doctor?" I said.

Carmichael made a noise and glanced up from her paperwork. A split second later, she was at the bedside. It took a while for Bauer to rouse herself. I guess if you've been out cold for days, you don't exactly jump up screaming-at least, we should be thankful she
didn't
jump up screaming, all things considered.

It took about twenty minutes for Bauer to awaken enough to move. She tried shifting onto her side, but the restraints held her back. She glanced down sharply, frowning, saw the bonds, and shot a glare at Carmichael. Her mouth opened, but only a whisper came out, so faint even I couldn't distinguish words. Carmichael got the message, though, and quickly loosened the arm restraints.

"Uh, that's not such a good idea," I said.

"She's too weak to talk, much less move," Carmichael said.

Bauer's eyes went from me to Carmichael, following our exchange. She searched my face with no flicker of recognition. Then I saw the flash. She remembered me. Her eyes narrowed.

"Wh-" She stopped and swallowed. "Wh-why's she here?"

"Elena's been helping me, Sondra. Since your… mishap."

"Mi-?" Bauer swallowed again, tongue flicking over her dry lips. "What mishap?"

"Grab Sondra a glass of water, Elena."

Again Bauer's gaze settled on me. "Wh-why's she here?"

"Get the water and then have the guards take you for a walk. I need to speak to Sondra."

I retrieved the water and tried to ignore the second half of the request, but Carmichael shooed me away. I knew I shouldn't leave Carmichael alone with Bauer. I also knew there was no sense arguing with the doctor. So I settled for leaving with the in-room guards and advising the door guards to take up posts inside. To my surprise, they obeyed. It would have been a heartening sign of my growing power and position if I hadn't suspected they were hightailing it into the infirmary so they could regale their colleagues with tales of being the first to see the new werewolf awake.

After my walk, Tucker met us outside the infirmary.

"Drop her off with Peters and Lewis inside," Tucker said. "Then get down to the cells and escort Miss O'Donnell into Zaid's cell."

"I thought Doctor Matasumi canceled all visits," one of my guards said.

"Katz-Doctor Matasumi changed his mind."

"But I thought he said-"

"He changed his mind. Miss O'Donnell will visit Zaid for one hour, followed by a one-hour visit with Miss Levine."

"How is Savannah?" I asked.

Three pairs of eyes turned on me, as if the walls had spoken. For a moment it seemed no one was going to answer me, then Tucker said brusquely, "She's fine."

"You know, I wouldn't mind seeing her myself," I said. "Maybe cheer her up a little."

"Miss O'Donnell can do that," Tucker said, then turned and headed down the hall.

The two guards led me into the room. Bauer still lay on the bed. Carmichael sat beside her, holding her hand. I assumed Bauer had fallen back asleep, then noticed her eyes were open. Carmichael motioned me to silence.

"I know it's a shock," Carmichael murmured. "But you're in good health and-"

"Good health?" Bauer spat, turning to skewer Carmichael with blazing eyes. "Do you know what I feel like right now? This-this-" Her left hand tried to punch the air, but only succeeded in a weak flutter before collapsing back at her side. "This
isn't
my body. It's not me. It's-it's wrong. Horribly, disgustingly wrong. And the dreams." She gave a choking gasp. "Oh, God. The dreams."

Carmichael touched Bauer's brow. Bauer closed her eyes and seemed to relax. Then she opened her eyes and saw me.

"Get her out of here," Bauer said.

"I realize Elena might not be the person you most want to see right-"

"Get her out of here."

Carmichael squeezed Bauer's hand. "I know she's a reminder of what's happened, but you need her, Sondra. She understands what you're going through, and she can help us. Without her-"

"Without her?" Bauer looked at me and pulled back her lips in a snarl. "Without her, I wouldn't be here."

"I understand your anger, Sondra. If it hadn't been for Elena coming here, this would never have happened. But you can't blame her-"

"Can't blame her? Can't blame her?" Bauer's voice rose. "Who the hell do you think did this to me?"

An hour later, I was back in my cell.

After everything I'd done, every risk I'd taken, one accusation from a newly turned, half-mad werewolf and I was in my goddamned cell. I'd nursed Bauer back to health. I'd prevented Carmichael from administering potentially life-threatening medicines. I'd thrown myself between Bauer and the gun-happy guards. How did she repay me? She blamed me, and not just in a figurative sense-because she'd used my saliva-but literally accusing me of turning her into a werewolf. Madness, right? What about the syringe? The needle mark? The evidence exonerated me. What did they think, that I'd stolen a syringe from the infirmary during my physical, filled it with my spit, and jabbed it into Bauer's arm? That was exactly what they thought. Or what Matasumi thought. Carmichael seemed to have the sense to realize this was preposterous. She hadn't said so outright, but she'd argued to keep me in the infirmary, and when I'd been forced to leave, she'd walked me to the door and promised to "get things straightened out."

How much good would Carmichael be as an ally? She was an employee with no real authority. When only Matasumi and Winsloe had been in charge, Carmichael's strong will had metamorphosed into true power. In battles of personality, Matasumi was defenseless. Winsloe had the requisite willpower to challenge anyone, but he kept out of the day-to-day running of the compound. So, in Bauer's absence, Carmichael had little trouble getting me into the infirmary against Matasumi's wishes. But now Bauer was back. Where did that leave Carmichael? I weighed the personalities of both women, assessing their chances.

There was one more factor to consider. How hard would Carmichael fight for me? She made little secret of her contempt for Winsloe and Matasumi but seemed fond of Bauer. Would she subject her weakened patient to a battle of wills? It depended on one thing: Bauer's convalescence. If Carmichael felt she needed me to help Bauer, she'd fight. But if Bauer recovered without relapse, I was shit outta luck. My best hope was for something horrible to happen, for Bauer to lose control, and for Carmichael and Matasumi to realize they needed my help. Knowing what a newly turned werewolf was capable of, it was an awful thing to wish for.

I had truly been cast out of favor. If there'd been any doubt, it soon vanished. The guards brought my breakfast two hours late, dropped it off, and left. Then they brought my lunch. Nothing happened in the interim. Absolutely nothing. Carmichael didn't summon me for a checkup. Matasumi didn't come down to question me. Xavier didn't pop by for a visit. Even Tess didn't take up observation duty outside my cell. I was left with my thoughts, consumed by memories of the night before. Alone with my fears, my self-recriminations, and my grief, reflecting on Armen's death, then Ruth's, then my own situation, which was growing bleaker with each passing hour.

Around mid-afternoon my door opened, and I leaped from my seat so fast you'd have thought Ed McMahon stood there with a Publishers Clearing House check. Okay, so it was only a guard, but at this point, any face was welcome. Maybe he was coming to take me upstairs. Maybe he was coming to deliver a message. Hell, maybe he was just coming to
talk
to me. Six hours of exile and I already felt as if I'd spent a week in solitary confinement.

The guard walked in, set a vase of flowers on the table, and left.

Flowers? Who'd be sending me flowers? Carmichael trying to cheer me up? Right. Matasumi apologizing for sending me back to the cell? Oh, yeah. Bauer thanking me for all my selfless work on her behalf? That's gotta be it. With a bitter laugh, I turned the flowers around and read the card.

Elena,

Sorry to hear what happened.

I'll see what I can do.

Ty

I slammed the vase off the table and clenched my fists, seething with fury. How dare he! After last night, how did he dare send me flowers, feign concern over my exile. I scowled at the flowers strewn across the carpet. Was this his idea of a joke? Or was he trying to fool me into thinking he still cared? Was he taunting me? Or did he, in his twisted way, really still care? Goddamn it! I snarled and kicked the vase across the room. When it didn't shatter, I strode over, scooped it up in one hand, and whirled to pitch it into the wall. Then I froze in mid-throw, fingers still wrapped around the vase. I couldn't do this. I couldn't afford to incur Winsloe's anger. The impotent fury that swept through me was almost enough to make me hurl the vase into the wall, damn the consequences. But I didn't. Giving in to the rage would only give him an excuse to hurt me again. He wanted to play mind games? Fine. I dropped to my knees and began gathering the flowers, obliterating all signs of my anger. Next time Tyrone Winsloe stepped into my cell, he'd see his flowers nicely displayed on the table. And I'd thank him for his thoughtfulness. Smile and thank him. Two could play this game.

At seven o'clock that evening, the door opened. A guard walked in.

"They need you upstairs," he said.

Elation rushed through me. Yes! And not a minute too soon. Then I saw his face, the tightness of his jaw failing to conceal the anxiety in his eyes.

"What's happened?" I said, getting to my feet.

He didn't answer, only turned and held the door. Two more guards waited in the hall. All had their guns drawn. My stomach plunged. Was this it, then? Had Bauer ordered my death? Had Winsloe tired of toying with me and decided to hunt me? But that wouldn't make the guards anxious. Some, like Ryman and Jolliffe, would be fairly licking their chops at the prospect.

As I stepped through the door, the first guard poked me in the back with his gun, not a hard jab, more of an impatient prod. I picked up speed and we quick-marched through the security exit.

The infirmary waiting room was jam-packed. I counted seven guards, plus Tucker and Matasumi. As I stepped through the door, time slowed, giving me a montage of visual impressions bereft of smell and sound, like a silent movie cranking through one frame at a time.

Matasumi seated, face white, eyes staring at nothing. Tucker at the intercom barking silent orders. Five guards clustered around him. One guard sat beside Matasumi, head in his hands, palms over his eyes, chin damp, a wet smear staining one shirt sleeve. The last guard faced the far wall, bracing himself with arms outstretched, head bowed, chest heaving. As I shifted my weight forward, my shoe slid. Something slick on the floor. I glanced down. A thin puddle of opaque yellowish brown. Vomit. I looked up. The infirmary door was closed. I stepped forward, still in slow motion. Faces turned. The crowd parted, not giving me room but stepping away. Nine pairs of eyes on me, expressions ranging from apprehension to disgust.

"What's going on here?" Winsloe's voice behind me shattered the illusion.

I could smell now: vomit, sweat, anxiety, and fear. Someone muttered something unintelligible. Winsloe shoved past me to look through the infirmary door window. Everyone paused, collectively holding their breath.

"Holy shit!" Winsloe said, his voice filled not with horror but with wonder. "Did Elena do-oh, shit, I see. Jesus fucking Christ, would you get a look at that!"

Almost against my will, my feet moved toward the infirmary door. Winsloe sidestepped to give me room and put his arm around my waist, pulling me in.

"Can you believe that?" he said, then laughed. "I guess you can, right?"

At first, I saw nothing. Or nothing unusual. Beyond the window was the counter, shining antiseptic white, stainless-steel sink gleaming like something in a kitchen showroom. A row of bottles stood at attention along the back of the counter. Carmichael's binder lay at a perfect ninety-degree angle beside the sink. Everything ordered and spotless, as always. Then something along the base of the counter caught my eye. An obscenity amid the pristine cleanliness. A star-shaped splatter of blood.

My gaze traversed the floor. A smear of blood six inches from the counter. Fat drops zigzagging to the crash cart. The cart upended, contents scattered and broken. A puddle of blood. A shoe print in the puddle, edges razor perfect. Then another smear, bigger, the bloodied shoe sliding across the floor. The filing cabinet. The hundred-pound steel cabinet toppled over, blockading the far corner as if someone had tipped it and hidden behind its imperfect barricade. Papers scattered across the floor. Blood spattered over them. Beneath the bed, a shoe with a bloodied bottom. Above the shoe, a leg. I whirled to face the others, to tell them someone was in there. As I turned, my gaze traveled up the leg to the knee, to a pool of bright crimson, to nothingness. A severed leg. My stomach leaped to my throat. I spun away, fast, but not fast enough. I saw a hand lying a few feet from the bed. Closer to the door, half-obscured under a spilled tray, a bloody hunk of meat that had been human.

Something hit the door, reverberating so hard I stumbled back with the impact. A roar of fury. A flash of yellowish-brown fur. An ear. A blood-soaked muzzle. Bauer.

"Tranquilizers," I wheezed as I regained my balance. "We need to sedate her. Now."

"That's the problem," Tucker said. "It's all in there."

"All of it?" I inhaled, blinking, struggling to get my brain working again. I rubbed a hand across my face, straightened up and looked around. "There must be a backup supply. Where's Doctor Carmichael? She'll know."