The Pretender (The Soren Chase Series Book 2) (22 page)

She tugged on Ken’s arm and pointed as she jerked her foot up again. But this time, the tendril didn’t release. Instead, it tugged at her, wrenching her to the ground. She was torn out of Ken’s grasp and jerked into the thick, gray fog.

Sara caught a glimpse of Ken aiming the gun, and saw him screaming her name without hearing it. Sara felt another tendril wrap around her other leg as she was pulled rapidly across the carpeted floor. She held out her arms, frantically trying to grab anything to stop the momentum. For a second, she felt the edge of a chair, but the tendrils jerked her past it before she could get a good grip.

There’s a wall coming up on your right, Mom. Grab it.

She let go of the gun and flung out her right arm, trying to catch a grip on anything. For a few awful seconds, there was nothing. She felt sure she would be drawn toward the thing that created the tendrils. But then her hand landed on the outer edge of a cubicle wall that was jutting out in the mist. She gripped it as hard as she could.

Sara came to an abrupt halt, but the pull on her legs increased as whatever was on the other end tried harder to reel her in. Her grip started to slip.

Just ahead of you—use your left hand
.

She reached out, her left hand searching for anything that would be useful. Her fingers brushed the edge of something metal and she stretched them farther, seizing it just as she was forced to release her grip on the wall.

She was yanked backward again. Sara managed to roll over onto her back, recognizing the object she held in her left hand. It was a silver letter opener monogrammed with Wallace’s initials. She didn’t know how it had ended up in the main office, nor did she care. She sat up, wielding it like a knife as she was drawn forward.

Out of the mist, a few feet ahead of her, she saw what was hauling her toward it. A horrific shape loomed out of the fog, looking like a cross between a spider spinning a web and an octopus extending its tentacles. It had so many limbs, all lashing out in different directions—except for the ones that were busy pulling her toward its terrible, gaping mouth.

Sara lashed out with the letter opener, stabbing at the tendril on her right leg. The opener wasn’t very sharp, but to her surprise, as soon as it touched the tendril, it fell off her, as cleanly as if she’d sliced it with a chain saw.

She struck at the tendril on her left foot and as it released her, there was an ear-splitting scream.

The monster that lurked ahead of her made the sound, and as it did, the fog appeared to thin around them. Sara was suddenly sure this creature was responsible for making the fog.

Every instinct in her body told her to run away, but Sara didn’t listen. Instead, she stood up, shifted the letter opener to her right hand, and began advancing on the monster in front of her.

She didn’t even see eyes, just its mouth. It shot several tendrils at her, but she batted them away with the letter opener, wielding it like a sword.

Rush it, Mom.

The thing shrieked at her, and Sara let her anger and fear give her the courage to do as Alex told her. She jumped into the air, leaping toward the thing. She plunged the letter opener into the creature’s mouth. It screamed so loudly she put her free hand to her ear, but she refused to let go of the letter opener.

The monster jerked back, its tendrils sucking into its body, which formed an amorphous mass that moved like an oil slick across the carpet away from her. It reached the window and burst through it, fleeing outside.

All at once, the fog dissipated, and Sara heard shouting and crying. The office was still fairly dark, but she saw several flashlights come on.

She heard someone shout, “Everyone stay where you are! This is the police!”

The world seemed to spin around Sara, and she suddenly was wobbling on her feet. Putting her back against a wall, she allowed the darkness to encompass her.

Ron Davis woke up to find himself sitting on the bathroom floor.

He stood up shakily, trying to remember how he ended up there. He looked at his arms and legs carefully. While he was out, he’d had an awful dream that there was something wrong with them. His flesh had been bubbling. He shivered at the thought.

Was there something he was supposed to be doing? He looked around the bathroom, confused about what had happened.

To his surprise, he saw another man on the floor. He wasn’t sure where the guy had come from. He considered getting the restaurant manager, but some inner voice suggested that was a bad idea.

He leaned down and checked for a pulse. At least the guy was still alive. He opened the stall door and dragged the man into it, propping him up on the toilet seat. He pulled the stall door shut behind him. If anyone looked inside, they would just see his feet and think he was using the toilet.

He returned to the sink and got another shock when he looked in the mirror. For a split second, the image there seemed completely foreign to him. It was a weird feeling, as if he didn’t know himself. Why did he look so odd?

The sense of detachment from his own reflection faded after a moment. He was Ron Davis, and he was here on a date with Carla. Something about that didn’t feel quite right, either. But he stopped worrying about it when the door swung open behind him, and another man walked in.

Ron hurried to wash his hands and leave. He felt a weird tingling sensation in his mouth, and kept rubbing it as if there were something in it. As he returned to the table, he noticed a middle-aged woman watching him intently. She looked familiar to him, but he couldn’t place where. Maybe she was some cougar, hoping to snag a younger man; he didn’t know.

He sat back down at the table and Carla touched his arm. She leaned in close.

“You were gone awhile,” she said, her southern accent charming as ever. “You okay?”

He turned back to her and smiled.

“Sure,” he said. “Never better.”

But that was definitely a lie. Ron felt dazed and a little lost. There was a nagging feeling that he’d forgotten something—something important—but he didn’t know what that was.

“Did you fall in, pal?” another voice said.

Ron turned to see his “friend” Sam, smiling at him, giving him a grin. Phoebe, Sam’s girlfriend, barely seemed to notice Ron’s return.

“Just drank my beer a little fast,” Ron replied, holding up his glass and taking a sip. “Ran right through me.”

“TMI, Ron,” Phoebe said, but he saw Carla smile.

Her smile transformed her face, lighting it up and reminding Ron how attractive she was. Ron put a hand on her thigh and leaned over to kiss her. She appeared surprised, but responded, though she pulled away after only a brief peck on the lips, giving him an odd look.

When Ron turned back, he saw Sam frowning. Good. Ron was getting sick of the sideways glances he kept throwing Carla’s way, pretending Ron couldn’t see them. Ron reached over and put his arm around Carla and smiled in Sam’s direction, trying to drive the point home.

Ron had only known Sam for three months, since Carla had answered Phoebe’s ad looking for a new roommate. The two women had hit it off right away. Ron found Phoebe okay, though she always seemed to be distracted and distant, like she was someplace else. She was a writer and liked to use big words to impress people, a habit Ron found annoying, particularly since he didn’t always know what the words meant.

But Sam was another story. Ron had disliked him from the beginning. He was a show-off, a braggart who appeared to be more interested in impressing Carla then tending to his own woman.

“Sam was just telling me about the new app his company just launched,” Carla said. “Honey, could you take your arm away? It’s a little uncomfortable in these chairs.”

The smile dropped from Ron’s face, but he obeyed.

“You might like it,” Sam said, turning toward Ron. “It’s a fitness app, but it goes way beyond what’s out there now. Better than a Fitbit, and we’re going to get it to work with the Apple watch.”

Ron nodded, trying to look complacent, but he still stung from Carla’s rejection of him a moment earlier.

“What’s it do?” he asked, not that he cared.

Sam started talking, growing more animated, but it was all just a blur of words to Ron. He watched how Carla looked at him when he spoke, though, and the admiring tone she used when she asked Sam questions. She didn’t look at him that way, not anymore. She wanted Sam. Ron could see it in her eyes. He bet she fantasized about fucking Sam.

Ron was going to interrupt their disgusting display when Carla stood up, announcing she was going to the restroom. Phoebe opted to go with her.

“I guess the wine ran through me, too,” Carla said, still smiling.

Ron waited until they were out of earshot, and then he leaned over the table.

“I know what you’re doing, buddy,” he hissed.

Sam looked taken aback, even confused, but Ron didn’t buy it.

“What are you talking about?”

“You think I don’t notice? You think I’m just some dumb meathead ‘cause I like to hit the gym?” Ron asked, growing angrier with every word.

Sam looked alarmed. “I don’t think that, Ron,” he said. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

Ron slammed a fist down on the table, causing one of the water glasses near the edge to fall over and shatter. Sam visibly jumped in his seat.

“Nothing is wrong with me!” he said. “I’m not fucking stupid, that’s all. I see how you and Carla are looking at each other. Are you fucking her already, Sam?”

His anger seemed to well up inside him like a beast he couldn’t contain. The more he thought about it, the clearer the situation became. They were already fucking. Carla had been cheating on him, probably laughing at how dumb he was. Well, he knew what was going on now. And she’d see how stupid he was when he broke Sam’s neck.

Sam stood up and backed away from the table.

“Hey, Ron, you’ve got it all wrong,” Sam said, holding up his hands in a gesture of surrender. “I’m not sleeping with Carla. Phoebe and I just got engaged, man. We were going to tell you two tonight. Phoebe was concerned because she’s moving out, and she doesn’t want to stiff Carla. Okay? That’s all that’s happening.”

Ron stood up and glared at Sam. The manager of the restaurant suddenly appeared next to the table.

“Is there a problem, sir?” he asked. “I need you to keep your voices down.”

Ron looked from the manager to Sam and back again. They both wore fake smiles on their faces, trying to placate him. But underneath those looks, he saw the fear in their eyes—and he enjoyed it. He was so tired of being talked down to.

“I’ll tell you what my fucking problem is,” Ron said, and jabbed a finger in Sam’s direction. “He’s trying to take my girl.”

“I’m not,” Sam said, waving his arms in the air. “I’m really not.”

The denials made it worse. If Sam had been a man—a real man—he would just admit what he was up to. But this lying and going behind his back was more than he could stand.

“Let’s take this outside,” he said, flexing a muscle. “Mano a mano.”

Sam made a sound between exasperation and laughter.

“Take what outside? I haven’t done anything,” he said.

The manager laid a hand on Ron’s arm.

“Sir, I’m going to have to ask you to leave—”

Ron grabbed the manager’s wrist and twisted it, causing him to cry out in pain. Ron punched him in the face, sending blood spurting from his nose as he fell back. The manager yelled for someone to call the police.

“This is none of your goddamned business,” Ron said, and turned his attention back to Sam.

“Are you out of your fucking mind?” Sam said.

Ron realized he was, but he seemed to be powerless to stop it. He looked around, noticing that everyone in the restaurant was now staring at him. A few of the other patrons were dialing their phones, and at least one was clearly recording it on video. Ron looked back at Sam. This was
his
fault. He’d set him up. He would watch Ron get carted off to jail, and then he’d move in to console Carla.

“You motherfucker,” Ron said.

He reached down, intending to move the table out of the way. Instead, he pushed it with such force that he threw it all the way across the restaurant. The other customers began streaming for the door, and Sam started backing away.

“How did you do that?” he asked.

Ron raced forward and shoved Sam backward, sending the man flying through the air. He landed on a vacant table. Ron took another step forward, wanting to tear Sam in half for what he’d done. If Ron was going down, he was taking Sam with him. And maybe he should find Carla later. This was her fault. She’d played them both.

But as he walked toward Sam, Carla stepped in front of him.

“Honey, we need to talk,” she said.

Ron lashed out, aiming a blow for her face, intending to put her in her place. But she stopped his fist with her hand. He stared at her in shock. She’d never been that strong.

“We need to get out of here, sugar,” she said. “The police are on their way.”

“You did this,” Ron said. “You set me up!”

She coolly arched an eyebrow at him.

“I did no such thing, and you know it,” she said. “Now come along before this gets worse.”

He resisted, wanting to finish off Sam. Carla glared at him.

“Soren,” she said. “I need you to come now.”

The mention of Soren was jarring. The name seemed familiar, but he didn’t recognize it. Still, it made him calm down somewhat. Taking his hand, Carla pulled him forward, and Ron felt his anger evaporating. All he wanted was to be with her, and now he was getting his wish. He saw Sam cowering in a corner, and Ron flicked him off.

“Don’t you come near her again,” he said, and followed Carla out the door.

Outside, she didn’t stop, but pulled him across the street. Ron could hear sirens nearby, getting closer, and realized they were coming for him. Together, they fled through the streets.

Sara opened her eyes to find Wallace sitting in a chair by the foot of her bed.

She looked around, taking in her surroundings. She was in the hospital. An IV was hooked up to her arm, and beside her, a machine beeped repeatedly.