133
“You probably never even got to touch these, did you, Smythe?”
Jorge Espe?osa’s breath panted out in great puffs as he fumbled with his belt, anticipation making his fingers thick and clumsy. He was going to take his time and enjoy this.
CRACK.
What the hell was that? Jorge’s head spun toward the sound, but his mind failed to comprehend what he was seeing. The Smythe boy was loose and moving, a look of rage distorting his face into a werewolf mask of hatred. Then the face blurred as the boy spun toward Carlos, the lone standing bodyguard, his fist moving so fast that the drug lord’s eyes failed to follow it.
Carlos’ head exploded like a melon hit with a sledgehammer, the force of the blow spattering globs of blood, bone, and brain across the five men crouched over Heather McFarland. Then Smythe was on them.
As he reached for his Beretta, Don Espe?osa felt the kick break his arm and cave in his chest, the amazing force of the blow sending his body spinning across the room, where the impact with the wall broke his neck. As he slid to the floor, unable to twitch a finger, his face settled into an angle that provided a view of the carnage raging fifteen feet away.
Even as he hurtled forward, he could hear the wet screams behind him, could smell the coppery odor of blood. Smythe wasn’t just killing the bodyguards, he was ripping them apart, pummeling their heads into a mush that even their nanite-infested bloodstreams had no chance to repair. Impossible. Nobody could move that fast or hit that hard. Nobody.
Don Espe?osa felt his own unnatural healing process restore the broken parts of his body, weaving his torn spinal cord back together, rewarding him with a river of pain. One thing he knew for certain: if the nanites didn’t hurry, the boy demon was going to finish ravaging what remained of the bodyguards and turn his attention to a more entertaining victim, one he had saved for last.
His hand moved, a jerky motion that didn’t accomplish anything, but which gave Jorge hope. And with that hope came panic. Just a few more seconds. That was all he needed to get enough control to reach his shoulder holster and put every bullet in his gun into the Smythe thing. He just hoped bullets would kill it.
As he struggled to move, Jorge’s hand spasmed, but a quick glance toward the center of the room wiped away all hope. Smythe was coming, looking like he’d just finished playing bobbing for apples in a barrel of blood.
And in those eyes…no pity.
134
It was raining, the same bloody rain Heather had seen in her nightmare. Although the vision had ended a minute earlier, it seemed that the nightmare world had merged with the present, leaving her struggling to understand if this was real or just another part of her hallucination. A warm wet blob splattered her face and hair as bodies that had just crouched atop her came apart, sending up great fountains of arterial spray.
Screams bubbled wetly, dying out as the mouths that uttered them lost all shape. And in the very eye of this hurricane of death, Heather stared up at the avenging archangel that Mark had become.
“I know what you are becoming.” The laughing voice of the Rag Man echoed in Heather’s delirious mind.
What Mark had become was what she had made him. She had seen this future, and yet, she had knowingly set it in motion by spitting into Don Espe?osa’s face. It was that or let Mark die.
Heather struggled to sit up in the slick red pool that covered the floor around her, uncaring that her blouse had been torn away, leaving her topless. She felt sick, not just in her stomach, but in her soul. The image of Stephen King’s Carrie stared back at her from the mirrored wall. Except it wasn’t a bucket of pig blood that soaked Heather. And Carrie hadn’t been covered with all these wiggling globs filled with nanites, struggling to repair the irreparable.
Heather’s body retched a single dry heave before she managed to shift her memory to the couch on the Second Ship. But she couldn’t linger in that memory. The rain had stopped and Mark was moving across the room toward the crumpled body of Don Espe?osa.
“Mark, stop!”
Her voice tugged at him like a jockey trying to stop a runaway horse. He slowed but didn’t come to a complete halt.
“Mark! Look at me.”
Mark grabbed the drug lord at the collar, lifting his broken body in one hand, as if it had no more weight than that of a baby. Heather could see Don Espe?osa was healing rapidly, although his arms and legs still only managed short spasmodic jerks.
“Mark! Look at me,” she repeated, struggling to her feet.
Ever so slowly, Mark’s head turned back toward her, the rage melting from his face as he stared at her.
Heather stepped forward. “We need him alive.”
Espe?osa’s hand twitched upward.
“I wouldn’t,” Mark said, his grip tightening until the drug lord’s eyes bulged. Don Espe?osa’s hand dropped back to his side.
Mark’s gaze returned to Espe?osa. Reaching the shoulder holster, Mark removed the Beretta and slipped it into his own belt.
“And why do we need this piece of trash?” he asked.
“To take us to Jennifer, for one.”
Heather noted his eyes moving across her naked torso, the awareness bringing a flush to her cheeks, though it was completely hidden beneath a coating of blood. Spotting a rack of clean towels, Heather grabbed two, draping one over her shoulders while she scrubbed at her face and hair with the other.
Mark set the drug lord against the wall, standing over him in a posture that indicated his good luck might not continue to hold.
Heather grabbed more towels, handing some to Mark who began scrubbing at his own sticky body. They certainly weren’t going to come clean, and their clothes were ruined, but it helped.
“Someone will have heard the screams. They’ll come,” said Mark.
Heather bent down to stare into Espe?osa’s dark eyes. “They heard, but they’re not coming. People scream a lot in this room. And you don’t like to have your rough play disturbed, do you, Se?or Espe?osa?”
The visions that filled her mind confirmed it.
Heather studied the drug lord. The rate at which his nanite-infested bloodstream repaired the damage to his body was amazing. Already, he was able to stretch his arms and legs, rolling his neck from side to side as if recovering from no more than a bad crick. The muscles in his chest had worked the broken ribs back into some semblance of their original alignment where they were rapidly being knit back together.
As incredible as that was, a glance to the mess in the room’s center showed that even nanites had their limitations. It was a fact that the look in Don Espe?osa’s eyes showed he was very much aware of.
“Okay, enough recovery time,” Mark said, yanking Espe?osa to his feet, the man’s grimace giving evidence that he had not yet completely recovered.
Heather stepped closer. “Now you’re going to take us directly to Jennifer. Believe me when I say I’ll know if you even consider doing something different than what we tell you.”
Espe?osa glanced at Mark, then nodded. “Then you’re going to kill me?”
“You heard what I told Mark. We need you alive. You just make sure you keep it that way.”
Don Espe?osa turned toward the inner door. “Walk with me. If we pass any servants, pay them no attention. They know better than to ask questions.”
The Spanish opulence of the wide room into which Espe?osa led them made Heather feel as if she had just stepped into a luxury resort, the rich tile floor, high ceiling, and huge windows giving it an openness that, under other circumstances, would have made her reluctant to leave. A tiled staircase led up to the second floor, and along this, Don Espe?osa led them. At the top of the stairs they entered a red-tiled hallway adorned with paintings of the conquistadors and standing suits of armor. Stopping just outside the third room on the left, Don Espe?osa rapped three times.
“Yes?” The familiar voice caused Heather’s breath to catch in her throat.
“I’ve brought you some guests,” Don Espe?osa said.
The sound of soft footsteps wafted out. Then the tall door opened inward.
“Guests?” Jennifer stood there frozen in shock, clad in a beautiful white peasant dress, looking pale and thin but incredibly beautiful.
Mark pushed Don Espe?osa into the wicker chair. “Don’t move!”
As Mark closed the door behind them, Jennifer rushed forward, throwing her arms around Heather’s neck, oblivious to the mess she was making of her beautiful white dress, great sobs shuddering through her body. Heather hugged back so tightly she felt they might become one. And as her own tears mixed with those of her lovely little friend, she felt Mark’s powerful arms circle them both.
“My God, Sis! I thought I’d lost you.” Mark’s voice choked off, his own tears dripping down his cheeks onto their heads.
For the longest time they just stood there, holding each other in an embrace they wished could last forever, experiencing a oneness Heather had feared they would never again share.
Jennifer was the first to release her hold, her eyes finally taking in the drying blood smears that caked Mark and Heather, along with Heather’s towel-draped torso.
“Jesus! What happened to you?”
With Mark keeping a watchful eye on Don Espe?osa, Heather rapidly filled Jennifer in on the day’s events, watching as shock turned to anger in her friend’s gentle face.
Jennifer stepped toward Don Espe?osa. “You did that to my family?”
The don shrugged. “You know what I am.”
Espe?osa stiffened as Jennifer’s eyes locked with his.
“Jen? What’re you doing?” The concern in Heather’s voice caused Mark to step closer.
“Jen?” Heather repeated, reaching out to touch her friend’s shoulder.
When Jennifer turned toward her, Heather released the breath she’d been holding. “It’s okay. Just making sure he wasn’t going to try anything like that again.”
“So what’s the plan?” Mark asked, also relaxing his stance. “We can’t stay here.”
Heather shrugged, a movement that almost caused the towel to slip from her shoulders.
“Actually, I think we are going to be staying here. We need to hear Jennifer’s story. But first, we need a shower and some fresh clothes.”
“I have a great shower and lots of clothes that will fit you,” Jennifer said. “I even have a robe Mark can use.”
“And then?” Mark continued.
“And then,” said Heather, glancing toward Jennifer’s laptop. “I think we need to re-establish contact with Jack and Janet.”