Blind Rage - Chapter 11

Tuesday, July 22, 1997, 6:34 am

Boerne, Texas

Rosa woke up with an alien feeling of warmth surrounding her, and she raised her head, yawning as she tried to sit up. On her right side, George wheezed a surprised grunt as she sank her hand into his bare stomach. On her left, Rachel yelped when she grabbed a handful of tit.

“What—” Rosa shoved herself up and over the side of the bed, which elicited pained grunts from both Rachel and George. “What the hell are you people doing in my room?”

From directly behind her, Jobe said, “You came in as a group. I couldn’t break you up, so I just let you drop together.”

Blushing from her forehead to her shoulders, Rosa laid a hand over her chest and dropped her other hand between her legs.

She needn’t have bothered because her room was pitch black, and still being too tired to look, no one turned on a light.

So Jobe saw nothing, while the rest of the pack was more distracted by gaping at each other...though truthfully George and Gavin both spent most of this time gawking at Rachel.

Rosa spun, glaring in what she hoped was the right direction to face Jobe. “What are you doing in here?”

“I figured I might need to stay to prevent a fight from breaking out when you woke up buck naked and surrounded by complete strangers.”

Rosa drew in a breath, but before she could say anything, Jobe added, “And I really couldn’t have pegged you any better with my first guess.”

Rosa’s memory began to flicker through the previous night. She had the oddest sense that she could see the world as a collection of blurry shapes moving over a more distinct colorless shoreline.

But that had not been the case. The combinations of sounds and scents gave her mind the distances to calculate, and each shape she understood as something she’d seen before.

Her calculating mind and her imagination still weren’t strong enough. She only had a vague memory of her childhood trips to the zoo, and so the scents of her pack mates produced fuzzy animal shapes against a hazily recalled lake shoreline. Jobe was just a dark outline of a man, though for some reason, her imagination kept trying to put him in a trench coat or a long cape and cowl.

Nevertheless, she could imagine seeing the previous night’s events because they’d taken place in the only location that she knew like the back of her hand. It wasn’t the same thing as real vision, but after years of seeing the world only in two color states, the mental trick of “seeing” her run around the lake was mesmerizing.

She swayed, lost in the moment and unaware that the same phenomena was also muting her pack mates.

Jobe was just holding his breath to wait for an explosion.

But the waking recollection helped Rosa let go of her anger over having her bedroom invaded by the entire pack. It was true that she had the biggest bed, while the other rooms only had twin frames. She couldn’t expect them to break up at the end of the night.

Her memory fired again, and she heard Jobe’s berserker growl, G’night, Gavin and George. G’night, Rachel. Pleasant dreams, Rosa... At each name, an animal growled a response.

Rosa snorted when she recalled Jobe’s smoother voice adding, G’night, Johnboy.

“All right, never mind the temper tantrum. Just let me go to my closet, and then get the hell out.” A relieved sigh erupted from the trio on the bed, and Rosa smirked as she went to her closet to get dressed.

Clearly, if there was an alpha female role in the pack, she had it by right of everyone being afraid of her temper.

She asked, “How does my house look?”

“Good,” Jobe said, getting to his feet to shuffle slowly across the room in search of the bedroom door. “Aside from the steak that you ground into the hallway carpet, everyone else made it outside without breaking or staining anything. Oh, and I cleaned the carpet before dropping for a nap on the floor. You’re welcome.”

Connecting forehead first with the wall, Jobe muttered, “Fuckin’ ow.”

He’d missed the door completely, and though he tried patting the wall, he couldn’t find the doorframe. He started wandering right, rubbing the wall.

Rachel said, “No, it’s on your left.”

“Thanks.” He walked left and his knuckle caught the knob, cracking it.

Ignoring the sniggers from the bed, he twisted the knob to pull open the door, commenting, “This place has impressively wide door spaces.”

Rosa wasn’t sure why the compliment was funny, but she giggled at it. “Thanks.” Behind her, she heard someone approach the closet.

The room was heavy with everyone’s combined scents, making identification by scent impossible. Everyone was walking all at once, masking the sound of the footfalls approaching the door too.

So she wasn’t sure who to feel mad at; the guys for staring, or Rachel for prying.

Rosa asked, “Who is that?”

“Rachel.” Her voice was a low whisper. “Hold on, the guys are already going back to their rooms to dress, and Jobe went out too.”

Rachel stepped into the closet as the men’s footfalls faded, and then Rosa caught her scent. It was still heavily mixed with Gavin’s scent, who must have been drooling on Rachel’s neck in his sleep.

The tone of Rachel’s voice was pained as she whispered, “Okay, it’s just you and me, got it?”

Uncertain of what was wrong, Rosa said, “Okay?”

While she leaned over to pull on her jeans, Rachel said, “I’m not sure how often this change will occur, but next time, please try to poke smaller holes in my breast when you get up.”

Rosa cringed, glad that she could hide her face for a moment by pulling on a sweatshirt. “I’m really sorry. Are you bleeding bad?”

“I’m going to need some gauze pads to keep from staining my shirt, yeah.”

Rosa covered her mouth. “Oh my...” She stepped toward the closet door and raised her arm to feel for Rachel.

Her hand pawed at thin air as she said, “Aw, crap, I’m sorry. I didn’t smell...hey!”

Rachel snorted, and the jig was up.

Dropping her hand, Rosa frowned and stepped out of the closet, her eyebrows hunching together.

Rachel’s laughter died in her throat. Watching Rosa scowl without glasses was a horrifying sight that could drain the humor out of any situation. It didn’t help that the light cast from the doorway threw deep shadows into her eye sockets.

Folding her arms, Rosa dropped her head. “Next time I might grab lower and make you bleed there.”

She knew a second later that she’d set herself up when Rachel snorted. “Nah, you’re too late, by about seven years.”

Rosa sighed and nodded, raising a hand to rub her forehead. “I really should have seen that coming.”

Rachel laughed, but she stopped herself to ask, “So, that was—?”

Rosa cut her off. “Yes, that was a blind joke.”

***

Tuesday, 9:25 am

George strolled into the station, trying to look relaxed as he wandered around the counter to the sheriff’s office. Inside he was jittering with nervous energy because what he had to explain might bring about the end of his job.

Knocking on the sheriff’s door, he nodded a greeting to Bert Davenport as he poked his head into the office. “Can I talk to you for a minute?”

Bert glanced up from a fishing magazine, his cordial smile faltering when he noticed how anxious his deputy looked. He took his feet off the corner of the desk and sat up in his seat fast.

Short and stocky, Bert was still in good shape despite his fat-heavy diet and his advancing age. At fifty-eight, he was still in the habit of working around his house at the crack of dawn, and his long list of morning chores would have worn out most casual office workers.

This routine of daily chores gave him hard, thick arms and a stout frame. But like most of the local men, he’d been unable to invent a chore to work on his abs. This gave him a hefty round gut which he sometimes referred to as his dickeydo.

Tossing the magazine on the desk, Bert waved to a seat. “Sure, George, come on in.”

His concern for George was obvious, but then Bert was on close terms with all of his deputies. He treated the men and women in his office as part of his family, and their problems became his at a moment’s notice.

Bert watched George fidget, and he asked, “Is something wrong?”

George nodded, frowning while he tried to decide what to edit out. He hated lying to Bert, but there was no way to explain the truth just yet.

“I know this will probably lead to more jokes in the office, but the thing that wounded me is the same creature that attacked Rosa Delgado. I can’t call it an animal anymore, because I think...it’s smart enough to make sounds close to speech.”

“You’re sure about that?”

“Yes. I know because Rosa described the same thing. After it attacked her, the creature tried to talk to her. I think it was trying to explain itself.” Bert nodded, and his acceptance relieved George.

Easing back in his seat, George said, “I’ve been out at Rosa’s for most of the night, talking to Agent Lebowitz and Jobe. They both feel the creature is sticking around the lake in search of food.”

“They’re probably right,” Bert said. “We’ve got another report of a stripped cow last night.  Reggie Jones said he got a good look at the animal dragging the cow out of the barn, and he’s just a mile away from the lake. He says it’s a giant black bear.”

Laughing nervously, he shook his head. “That doesn’t sound anything at all like the sasquatch you described, but it does sound like the bear that attacked Agent Lebowitz.”

George nodded, dropping his head. “I’m retracting my Bigfoot theory. One of Agent Lebowitz’s colleagues is an expert on mythical creatures, and he told me that the sasquatch look completely different.”

Bert guffawed as he nodded. “So what does this expert think we have here?”

“He wouldn’t speculate on it.” The blatant lie was also obvious, and Bert’s smile dropped. George sighed, looking down as he thought, I better wrap this up before I say something stupid.

“Anyway, what I wanted to tell you is that the FBI is running a stakeout at Rosa’s house. The FBI has invited me to...well, to join the team.”

Bert frowned, his bronze-tanned face drawing into a look of disappointment. “You’re resigning?”

“No,” George said, shaking his head. “I just needed to come in and explain that I won’t be free for night shifts.”

Bert relaxed as recognition flashed across his face. “Oh, right. I guess you’ll be camping out around the lake with tranquilizers. Or will you be using live ammo?”

“Tranquilizers. The FBI will be footing the bill for the equipment. They don’t know what the creature is, but they don’t think it belongs here. Maybe someone smuggled it in, but the way they’re talking, I think they’d prefer to study it. Whatever it is, they think it’s unique.”

“So why isn’t Agent Lebowitz sitting here to explain this?”

“I figured it would be easier for me to explain it first. Gavin...Agent Lebowitz will be along shortly, after Rosa finishes her shopping trip.”

Bert started to nod, but his face filled with surprise when he registered what George said.

The corners of his mouth pulled up in a broad smile. “She’s off her property? How did you pull that miracle off?”

George shook his head. “It wasn’t me. Whatever attacked Rosa caused her to lose her cane and her glasses. When she finished breakfast, she announced that she wanted to come to town to replace them. So, of course we agreed.”

“We?” Bert laughed. “How many people are camping out at her place now?”

“Three others, besides me. There’s Gavin Lebowitz and Rachel Lin. They both work for the FBI. Then there’s Jobe. I suppose he works for the FBI too, but it feels wrong to call him an agent, or even an employee.”

Bert asked, “How is Rosa taking her house being invaded by strangers?”

George’s mind flashed to a memory with no visual information. He recalled waking up in Rosa’s room, her hand crushing his stomach and cracking his lower rib when she vaulted over him and off the bed.

Feigning an indifferent expression, he said, “She’s adapting better than anyone might expect.” 

***

Tuesday, 9:36 am

Gavin and Jobe stood by the front entrance of the grocery store, both men watching with soft smiles while Rachel helped guide Rosa to the pharmacy.

Most everyone in the store knew Rosa’s story in one form or another. Her past gave her a status as a local urban legend, and people knew she didn’t make public appearances.

Some people froze behind their carts, following Rosa with stunned expressions. Those who didn’t recognize her still stared, because she’d pushed up the sleeves of her sweatshirt, exposing her scarred forearms.

If one stared long enough at the shorter cuts on her right forearm, they would have spotted a pattern to make out the letters: BITCH. The B was made with nine cuts to create a pair of jagged parallelograms connected to the same longer vertical line, and the I had short slashes at the top and bottom. The T had cuts on either side of the top line and a more jagged stab wound scar at the bottom, totaling five cuts. The C was an open diamond shape made with four cuts. The H was made in a similar way as the T, resulting in seven more cuts.

The wounds had been made for maximum pain, and the letters were hard to read only because of the dozens of longer lines that ran through the letters. The web of white scarring was so intense that it looked like Rosa’s assailants had tried to cross out the word and hide it.

At the pharmacy counter, Rosa leaned over to mutter, “I need to buy a folding cane, please.”

The old man behind the counter patted her hand. “You wait here, and I’ll go fetch it for you, all right?”

Rosa nodded, her voice squeaking as she said, “Thanks.”

She tried to stay calm. Rachel was right next to her, and Jobe and Gavin had promised to wait by the door and let her shop like a big girl.

But she wasn’t mad at them. She was petrified because they weren’t right behind her. All around her, she could smell people, some more perfumed than others.

Her senses were sharper than they’d ever been before, and she heard everything. Every muttered comment about “that poor thing,” every soft gasp of shock, and every whispered “dear God.”

The people who thought they were out of earshot began talking about her, and some of them weren’t remembering the night she lost her freedom. Instead, they recalled when she used to be known around town as the “easy girl.”

Rachel heard the gossiping too, and she panted to contain her temper.

It didn’t make Rosa feel any better, and if she wasn’t needing the cane and new glasses, she would have left the store as fast as she could.

Once the pharmacist had located another cane, she asked him where the sunglasses were. She relied more on swinging the cane to find her way instead of holding Rachel’s arm. While she walked without assistance, she still needed Rachel to call out directions.

In this way, Rachel guided Rosa to a rotating display case of sunglasses near the front of the store.

Rosa asked, “Can you pick out something dark with round frames, please?”

Rachel found a pair with circular black lenses around a bright cobalt metal frame. Rosa bowed her head to pull off the Ray Bans and slip on the new glasses.

She became aware of the profound silence in the area and asked, “They’re all staring, aren’t they?”

Rachel considered lying, but when she looked around, she noticed how many people stared not with looks of pity, but awe.

She said, “Yeah, but it doesn’t look like the bad kind of staring to me. All the gossip hounds in the back—”

“I know,” Rosa said. She reached out for Rachel, who stepped closer to offer her forearm. “Take me to the checkout with the shortest line, please. I have to get out of here.”

“It’s okay, Rosa,” Rachel said.

But it wasn’t okay.

Rosa’s heart was hammering in her chest, and no assurance could calm her down. She was far away from her land, where she could measure everything in steps or paces. Everything had a label, and almost everything with a label was safe.

Everything off of her land might as well have been Mars, and it certainly seemed about as hospitable to her. Strangers lurked in the shadows everywhere, and just reaching out to find her bearings, she could run into someone. She could knock down a shopping display, or, or something.

She knew she was being stupid. Every one of her fears was vague and childish. But without her eyes, the world had shrunk down to a span of land no bigger than three quarters of an acre. Without her sight to aid her judgment, almost everyone was placed into the same category in her mind: enemy.

Rachel led her to the line and then stepped back. She was still close enough for Rosa to smell her, but she was trying to follow Jobe’s advice not to be coddling.

The rest of the customers in line hadn’t been given such advice, and they each told Rosa that she could move ahead of them.

The cashier’s voice was stunned but filled with happiness as she said, “Well, hello there, Rosa. It’s been forever and a day since you last came in. You probably don’t remember me.”

Rosa started to shake her head, and the cashier said, “I’m Abby Sweitzer.”

The name was familiar. Abby had been a junior in high school when Rosa was a freshman and just starting to earn her reputation. They’d run into each other between classes, and Abby had invited Rosa to a few weekend parties before her graduation. They couldn’t rightly be called friends, but they’d been on good terms with each other.

Rosa offered a thin smile, trying to look happy. “Right, Abby. You threw awesome parties.”

Abby laughed, “Yeah, that was before I had kids.”

Rosa asked, “How have you been?”

“Oh, don’t worry about me.” Abby patted Rosa’s arm. “How are you, dear?”

If Rosa’s eyes had still been capable of shedding tears, she would have.

Her voice was strained as she said, “I lost my glasses in the lake this weekend, and my cane too.”

Abby gasped, a muffled sound because she covered her mouth. “Oh no,” she muttered, drawling the words slowly. “Are you all right, dear?”

Rosa nodded, making the label on her nose bob. “Yeah.” Blushing, Rosa pointed to the label. “Do you think you can clip this for me? I probably look silly with a label hanging over my nose.”

“Yeah, just lean forward a little bit.” Abby took out a plastic box cutter from under the counter, ratcheting the blade up a few notches.

She flinched when Rosa shrieked, but then so did everyone else in the store.

Dropping to the floor, Rosa covered her face and screeched.

The sound was inhuman and unbearably loud. The people watching her grew pale as they listened to the snarling cat sounds.

It was her thunderous volume and the feline wail that prevented anyone from realizing that she was begging with the same word over and over: “Please!”

***

Tuesday, 1:36 pm

Washington D.C.

Mark got out of the limousine and nodded to the security guard at the rear entrance. Walking inside, he passed another guard his briefcase and let them look through it while yet another guard patted Mark down.

The search was conducted by elites, a standard procedure from day one of Damien moving into the White House. Normal humans could have been telepathically tricked into letting a halfling slip into the White House, so every entrance was guarded by elites. The McCulloughs would not be able to send in an assassin using mental tricks.

Even close friends were checked on the chances that somehow the halflings might also be able to cast illusions. Some of their strongest family members could fly or cast elemental spells, so a simple disguise seemed likely.

As he was being patted down the second time around, Mark wondered how normal people would react when the war broke out, and there was no way to explain away the nightmares coming back to haunt their reality.

He took his briefcase and passed through a metal detector, the final step before he could walk into the corridor with his escort.

Hoping to make small talk, Mark offered the guard a smirk. “How is he?”

“He’s been good.“ The guard returned the smirk. “I think his biggest problem this week is whether the new tax package is going to float through the house or not.”

Mark nodded. “What’s he snacking on? Salts or sweets?”

“Sweets,” the guard said.

Mark nodded. “Good.”

Salty snacks would have been a sign that Damien was doing more astral wandering. The more often he body hopped, the more likely he was to be cold and snappish.

Yet to Mark’s knowledge, Damien hadn’t left his body since winning the election. For all intents and purposes, he seemed to be making good on his claims of attempting to turn over a new leaf.

The guard sighed in the following silence. “You’re the bearer of bad news, aren’t you?”

Mark laughed, shaking his head. “You know, with Damien, I’m never sure.”

The guard nodded, but his laugh was short and polite. He was worried that Mark’s bad news would put the boss in a foul mood, and the week had been calm until then.

Mark walked into the oval office, where Damien sat in a stately white recliner situated near the middle of the room. Matching couches were set opposing each other in front of the recliner, and another empty recliner closed the rectangular brainstorming space.

Damien read from an open file folder on his lap, a click-pen clutched in his hand as if he were making edits on whatever report he was reading.

Though working alone, he still wore a tailored navy-blue jacket over his white dress shirt, and his dark plum silk tie was knotted tight against the closed top button on his collar. His dark blond hair was styled in a right part wave, every strand held in place with styling mousse.

He looked ready to meet the queen of England, or perhaps the prime minister of Canada.

Mark almost felt humbled to be afforded such a regal view of his friend. But he suspected that he would have to spoil the illusion and bring out another side of Damien.

Damien raised his head at the sound of the door opening, and his tanned, leathery face filled with creases as he smiled. His green eyes gleamed with sincere fondness, and his smile wasn’t faked, as he might have done for reporters.

This was the real Damien, the charismatic politician’s mask set aside for Mark.

As he crossed the room, Mark wondered if Damien was more like Jobe than he would admit. There were other sides to Damien, other facets, and the politician and Mark’s friend were just Damien’s two most common personas.

There was also a cold-blooded monster hiding behind his other personalities, a fiend who had developed as a result of the elite’s plans for revenge against the McCulloughs.

Everything they’d done was for the greater good, because it would lead to justice and the destruction of the McCullough family. The halfling clan had taken males from all over Arizona, and each member in the inner circle of the elites had lost relatives in the cruel dungeons under the McCullough compound.

But the monster hiding inside Damien had never gained control over him until after he’d first summoned the daemon, Annul. The requirements of the spell had killed something in Damien, making him just as wicked and terrible as any of the McCulloughs.

Mark thought, Am I really so much better?

Of course he wasn’t. He had gone along with Damien’s plans to summon daemons, and like all the elites in the inner circle, he’d been informed that this would require the sacrifices of innocent children. He accepted the deaths as collateral damage to stop the McCulloughs.

The phrase collateral damage became more bitter with every new development because the catalyst for the coming war was Damien’s spell to summon Annul.

Aside from letting Damien run wild with his abilities, Mark had used his powers to control people. He’d often attended political rallies with Damien to influence the crowds. He would hum the national anthem while it played at the beginning of the event, and then he charmed the crowds, making them more receptive to Damien’s speeches.

So Damien was a child slayer, but Mark was the criminal who looked the other way and still helped his murderous friend ascend to the highest office in the land.

Mark pushed the thoughts away. He thought these things to steel himself against a visit from the colder Damien. The sound file he was carrying had the potential to provoke anger, and like the guard, Mark preferred to see Damien in a good mood.

Straining for a smile, Mark didn’t bother with a greeting. “Jobe survived the first lunar cycle.”

Damien closed the report and tucked it into the side of the recliner cushion. He got up and waved to the guard to leave, but he didn’t wait before he asked, “Did he find it?”

Mark coughed and looked down. “Yes, but perhaps you should hear the recording before you celebrate.”

Damien laughed. “There’s a recording?”

Mark went to the couch and opened his briefcase to take out a CD. Damien grabbed the case and crossed the office to turn on a sound system mounted on the side of his desk.

As soon as he hit the play button, Wagner’s voice started the recording. “This is Wagner.”

Jobe’s voice followed, sounding cheerful. “This is Jobe, and I’m alive, unscratched and free of any curses. Um, well aside from the one D injected me with.”

Wagner groaned, sounding irritated. “Jobe, can you—”

“I’m calling to send a message to our new employer. As a condition of my continued employment with the federal government, I’ve decided that I should be allowed to stop self-medicating. It seems pointless to us, since it’s been handicapping us. Also, we know about Stephen’s trick to make me take the pills, and I’m not falling for it anymore. Since Wendy killed Stephen, I don’t believe D’s got another halfling to brainwash me again. But I guess we’ll find out if we’re wrong, right?”

Damien snorted as he thought, He’s crazy. Absolutely insane. Far from being angry, Damien was beaming with pride.

Wagner asked, “Why do you keep saying we and us?”

“I’m just referring to the committee in my head,” Jobe said. “If big D has a problem with me coming off of the pills, tell him that he can come and visit me to work out a new deal. Oh, and tell him to mind the dog.”

“Uh...okay,” Wagner said. “So how did the night go?”

“After you left, I got all four pack mates out of the house without them breaking anything. We even ran into the orc.”

Damien covered his mouth to stifle a laugh. An orc.

He was dying to know what the creature looked like, but the few descriptions in Gavin’s reports weren’t good enough. Damien was mad with curiosity, and he hoped to have a picture soon, or even better, a video. He couldn’t dare to hope for a live encounter, as his busy schedule would prevent him from taking time off for at least another two or three months.

Wagner seemed to have caught a similar mania for the orc. He sounded intrigued as he asked, “Did you capture it?”

“Uh...well, no, and you might not like this. The thing is, once I realized the pack was going to obey me, I...I gave the collar back to the orc.”

“You what?” Wagner shouted.

Almost at the same moment, Damien barked a laugh and asked, “He what?”

“We gave him the collar, and then we let him leave.”

While Wagner sputtered in anger, Jobe’s voice dropped into a lower growl as the berserker took over to explain himself. “Here’s the thing, boss. He’s into eating cows, so we’re going to keep a lot of raw beef here at Rosa’s. With the pack being here, he might come back to be closer to other kin. I can’t be sure of that. The pack didn’t care for him once they went furball, but it didn’t seem like he felt the same way about them. Then again, maybe the pack reacted badly because he showed aggression toward me.”

Wagner asked, “What if they won’t accept him?”

“We can at least lure him in close to the lake for a few days, and then your superiors will need to figure out some way to take him alive. They will need to take him alive, and that isn’t open for negotiation.”

Wagner sighed, saying, “Jobe we aren’t really in a bargaining—”

“If they kill the orc, they lose me, and I’ll take the pack on a cursing spree.”

“Jobe—”

Jobe cut Wagner off again, his voice returning to his normal pitch. “I don’t think big D will kill the orc. I’m just making myself clear. At this point, I can promise you, the orc isn’t at risk of passing the curse to anyone. I think we have the problem licked. Of course, we won’t know for sure until the next full moon.”

“I’ll pass this along,” Wagner said. “Call me if you need anything.”

“Nah, we’re fine for now. Well, Rosa wants to go to the store to pick up a new cane and some glasses, but we can take care of that this afternoon on our own. Gavin would have typed up a proper report for you last night, but he had two left paws.”

Wagner groaned, hanging up on Jobe without saying good-bye.

Damien stopped the CD and shook his head while he chuckled. “He let it go. He gave up the only magical artifact we had to study, and he let the orc go.”

Mark nodded, looking down. “Yes.”

Damien laughed more. “Crazy son of a bitch.”

“Do you want us to send in a team to collect—?”

“No, and I don’t care how you planned to finish that sentence.” Damien took the CD out of the tray and got up from his desk. He rested the CD on his finger and spun the disc while he paced behind his desk. “Jobe is right. I want the orc alive, but we’ll also want to keep the orc in the area for as long as possible.”

Mark shook his head. “I don’t understand.”

“We’re waiting to see if the elf returns.” Damien laughed again. “You can pick them both up at the same time, and with the right choice of words, you can have them both on the FBI’s salary a week later.”

Mark sighed. “Something could go wrong.”

“If it does, we will look the other way, and we will be very surprised if the local police find any evidence of mystical creatures.” Damien’s grin became proud as he shook his head. “But I think our failed experiment is starting to show his true colors, and this is hardly the time to clip his wings.”

***

Tuesday, 8:36 pm

Boerne, Texas

Jobe knocked on Rosa’s door, but she didn’t answer. He opened the door a crack to stick his head through. “Rosa, I brought you some soup.”

“Go away, please,” she whimpered, curling tighter into a ball under the covers. “I don’t want pity.”

“Pity has nothing to do with it.” Jobe walked in, balancing the tray on one hand while he shut the door.

The room was plunged into darkness, but he left the overhead light off while he shuffled to the bed.

“You haven’t had anything to eat all day.”

“You think I’m stupid? I heard what you said last night. You want to play therapist, and make me talk about myself.”

“That’s the berserker’s plan, but that’s not on my agenda today.” Jobe sat down on the side of the bed. “If you don’t feel like having company while you eat, I’ll just put the tray over here on the nightstand, and then I’ll leave you be.”

Feeling for the edge of the nightstand, Jobe slid the tray across the surface and waited a moment more before he got up from the bed. “If you don’t need anything else, I’ll just take a drive to the library for something to read.”

Rosa said nothing.

Jobe nodded to himself, walking slowly to the door only because he was trying to avoid bumping into the wall again.

He opened the door, and behind him the bed squeaked as Rosa sat up. “Jobe?”

“Still here,” Jobe said.

Rosa’s mouth hung open, and she dropped her head before she muttered, “I—if you wanted to sit with me for dinner, that would be okay.”

“All right.” Jobe shut the door and moved back to the bed.

It was a surreal but enlightening experience, sitting with Rosa in the dark. He listened to the soft hiss of her sipping spoonfuls of broth, the spoon tapping the edge of the bowl, or the crunch of bread being bitten into.

She passed him the tray, and he asked, “Should I bring something for dessert?”

Before he could get to his feet, she set a hand on his back. “Wait for now, please?” She hesitated, her voice rising several times in an incoherent mumble before she could form words. “I don’t like being alone all the time, but...there’s this thing inside me.”

Moving the tray to the foot of the bed, Jobe said, “I know.”

“Sometimes, I think I have control of her, or myself. But all it takes is the right sound, and I go to pieces.”

“Did you ever try talking to a therapist about this?”

“No, I couldn’t,” Rosa said. “If I talked to the doctors, they would have locked me up. They were going to do it when I was twelve. That’s when the voice showed up and told me to kill my parents.” She shook her head. “I couldn’t tell them that the voice got stronger after my parents died, because they already had on file that I was delusional. I just wanted to be home, where I knew I was safe.”

Rosa’s voice was warbling, and through the mattress, Jobe could feel how much she was shaking. He leaned over to feel for her shoulder and slipped his hand around her back.

Rosa stiffened. “What are you doing?”

“I’m just holding you,” Jobe said. He leaned her over onto his side, turning at an awkward angle on the bed to close his other arm around her.

She never argued or struggled, but for many long minutes, she was still in his embrace.

Jobe couldn’t read her. It was a measure of privacy afforded to her by the druid curse, but even without knowing her mind, he understood what she was thinking.

She was scared stiff that he would try to take advantage of her. Jobe wanted to whisper some assurance that he was safe. He wanted to pat down the back of her hair, or to rub her arm to comfort her.

He held still, listening to Rosa’s fast breathing.

Even when she could adjust to the shock of being touched again, she didn’t relax. Contact brought with it memories of her parents, and her body began to shake as her emotions overcame her. She felt anguish and a helpless rage. She felt terror, both for her past, and for her future.

But most of all, she felt hate.

She hated herself, for blubbering like a child while her parents were taken from her. She hated herself because she froze when the men turned on her. She offered no fight at all while they destroyed her, piece by piece.

And when they were done, they made sure that no one would ever want her again.

Rosa swayed in Jobe’s embrace, and her shoulders rose and fell as she cried.

Jobe patted her back and whispered, “You’re safe now.”

It was a lie. He knew it, and she did too. She’d been attacked on her own property, and if her land wasn’t safe, then no place was.

But it was a lie she wanted to believe, and that she needed to believe to let the breakdown come.

He didn’t know how long they sat together before she calmed down. Rosa sniffled, laying her head on Jobe’s side.

“We were walking on a dark street, cutting from Sixth Street to Fifth. I didn’t see the van until it was pulling up to the curb.” Rosa sniffled, raising her arm to wipe her nose on her sleeve.

Jobe patted down the empty tray and found the napkin for her.

Rosa made an embarrassed huff. She blew her nose and rested her hands in her lap, curling her fingers around the damp napkin.

“They were drugged on something. Both of them were dripping sweat, and they stunk. They...the man who got out cut my dad with a box cutter. That was all they had for weapons. Just cheap, plastic box cutters. My dad used to buy a three pack of those things at the Dollar Store.”

Rosa paused, then shook her head. “They just cut him once, but all three of us went into the van without a peep, like he was aiming a gun at us. Mom and me—we didn’t even scream. I don’t know about her, but I didn’t want them to cut my dad again.

“All I could think of was some cop in an infomercial. He was droning on and on about how it was better to just follow an armed criminal’s instructions, because then there was a better chance of surviving the encounter.”

Rosa sighed, shaking her head. “I guess that works out better for some people than for others.”

The room filled with a foreboding silence. Jobe let Rosa come to terms with her memories at her own pace. Her breathing had become faster again, as if she were on the verge of another crying fit.

She got herself under control, but her voice was much softer. “They blindfolded us. I don’t know how long we were riding around before the driver parked. He started cutting Dad before the other man took off my blindfold.

“He told me to plead for my dad, and I did. But it didn’t help. They cut him every time I asked them not to, and when I stopped, they started hitting me. It...they wanted me to beg, even if I knew it wasn’t helping. Maybe they liked making me feel so useless. No, I was helpless. The only two people in the world who could have saved me were...”

She started sobbing, and when she hunched over, Jobe tightened his embrace to support her. He whispered, “It’s okay. You don’t have—”

“I...” Rosa rubbed the napkin under her nose. “I need to.”

“Okay,” Jobe agreed.

She settled down again, but she needed another minute before she could speak.

“They didn’t take Dad’s eyes. They didn’t do that to Mom either. They just kept cutting until my parents couldn’t react to it anymore. There was blood everywhere when my parents stopped moving, but they weren’t dead. I could hear them gurgling when they breathed.

“By then I was covered in bruises. I knew I was going to die, and I didn’t want to beg. So I didn’t, and...and they got mad. I think that’s why it was so much worse for me.”

Rosa started panting fast, and then she shook her head before she muttered, “I’m sorry, I can’t—”

“It’s all right,” Jobe assured her in a gentle voice. “You don’t have to talk about anything, okay? I’ll just sit here with you until you’re sick of me.”

Rosa smiled faintly, giving a slight shake of her head before she relaxed against him. It had been so long since she had felt safe around anyone. She wanted to say that she wouldn’t get sick of him, or that he’d made her feel safe again.

Instead, she closed her arms around his stomach and returned the hug.

Jobe’s side ached with a vicious cramp. He’d been sitting twisted around for half an hour, and the butt cheek supporting all of his weight had fallen asleep. His whole leg was cold and tingling, and he’d be limping for a few minutes after he stood up.

But he forced himself to ignore the discomfort, because his presence was helping to soften the shell that Rosa had built around herself.

She let him get closer because she sensed that they were kindred spirits. But it would be a long time before she would be able to deal with the demons lurking in her memories.

Jobe couldn’t break down her shell all at once. He needed to be patient, to work in stages with Rosa. The barrier would weaken more with every talk they had, and when she was ready, she would bring down the remaining pieces of the wall on her own.