Discovering Normal (21 page)

The girl squirmed and Beth felt genuinely bad. She lifted her palm just slightly and Joanna took the opportunity. “You only desire assistance in finding Manish-Mannen, though we are well aware that you intended to leave him behind--even in your other life.”

And she was right of course. Beth tried to think, her mind whirling. She grasped at anything she could pull. “You have a sister named Melanie. She must miss you so much. And you have a horse; he’s a champion I understand. You named him
Bit ‘O
Honey
. Try and remember, Joanna.”

Beth lost her grip as the girl gave a mighty thrust and scurried to the door. Luck wasn’t with Beth this time. She spun, but bumped against the chair that had been pulled out. By the time she recovered, Joanna King was gone.

***

The Most Masterful waved his finger to the beat like a simulated conductor.

Lovely.

Puccini was grand.

The Three Tenors superb and all could be right with the peaceful world of Flora-Sky had Farley-Fauna, or Beth Stoddard, or whoever the hell she was, not chosen to betray him.

The Most Masterful stretched on the brocade chaise and pondered. It would be best to confront her, but would that not only lead to denial? Could there be just the slightest of chances that only her feelings for the lesser had changed? Perhaps living the life of Beth Stoddard, simple housewife and mother, had brought forth a slight variance in her preferences and her opinion of Antony could be included in that. Perhaps she really was the long-awaited Farley-Fauna the Divine after all.

He sat abruptly when he heard wailing and clamoring in the hall. The door to his sanctuary was heavy and he avoided manually opening it if at all possible, waiting instead for Omish-Ogden or one of the other followers with little brain but mighty bulk to do his bidding. But this caterwauling sounded far too immediate. The Most Masterful tugged and pulled, only to see Dara-Dawn near hysterical in the corridor.

And we couldn’t have that.

“What happens here?”
Omish-Ogden held her firmly in his meaty grip and shook her frame as a child

would a rag doll. “She is not sensible, Your Greatness,” Omish-Ogden muttered.

             
“Release her to me, but wait diligently,” The Most Masterful muttered, annoyed already that the nuisance of a girl was disturbing him once again. He snatched Dara-Dawn’s trembling arm and tugged her into his inner sanctum. Had he been wrong in choosing her to be the first of many? Her blonde fairness had appealed to him when he’d spotted her roaming her college campus with a stack of books and a smile. It hadn’t been difficult to c
onvince her that she was chosen;
nor had it been difficult to persuade her to join him in his bed once she’d been convinced. But each time she disrupted his thoughts, his plans, his life, he questioned his choice--though one as great as he should never doubt decisions that’d undoubtedly been steered by The Master.

             
He flung the girl to the chaise and waited for her heavy breathing to quiet. “What is it, Dara-Dawn? I do not take kindly to yet another disturbance from thee.”

             
She braced her now heavy frame with her palms against the chaise as she panted. “It is Farley-Fauna.”

             
He uncrossed his arms and perked his ears. “What of Farley-Fauna?”

             
Dara-Dawn’s chest heaved. “I believe she’s misled you, Your Excellency.”

             
An eyebrow lifted. “In what way?”
             
Dara-Dawn lifted her face, the purple bruise screamed. A flash of pride filled him. He’d marked her as his own, as inconsequential as she was. Still she adored him. “I spoke with her whence I brought her scone. She believes me to be one of humbleness, not greatness. She believes me to be one of
them.
She fancies herself an Agent of Evil and wants assistance in finding The One.”

             
Damn.
             

“You’ve gathered this how?”

             
She pushed up to more of a sitting position and longingly eyed a goblet filled with cider near the chaise. He didn’t offer it and she turned back to face him. “She told me, Your Excellency. She told me a foolish and contrived tale of my beginning. She told me that I hail from the land of sun and showmanship. She even claimed my name to be
Joanna,
not Dara-Dawn the Chosen.”

             
Fury bubbled in his gut, though he detested it.

How dare she!

He moved to a wardrobe and lunged for a slick and small weapon from deep within. He tucked it in the fold of his robe and all but forgot that Dara-Dawn was still present. He moved to the door and caught sight of her then, greedily sipping his cider when he hadn’t invited her to. He lunged, wrenched the goblet from her hands and studied her, startled and panting.

             
“You offend me, Dara-Dawn.” She cowered before he struck out with the wrath he intended for Farley-Fauna, but displayed on this weakling instead. She clutched her face and whimpered and he struck her yet again with the mighty force of his ringed knuckles.

             
“Ah!” she cried and fell back against the chaise, sounding defeated and scared and small.

             
He pulled her up--the weight of her an effort--and tugged her to the door, opening it slightly and pushing her into Omish-Ogden’s waiting arms. “Lock her away. She displeases me.”

             
And then The Most Masterful scurried down the hall
way
.

Chapter 2
2

Beth wriggled the lock like the damsel in a monster movie. Of course, the damn thing wouldn’t budge. Her only choice was the grate and tunnel she’d used before. She scurried to the bathroom, closing the door behind her and placing an old chair she’d dragged with her under the crystal knob just to buy her an extra second.

She hoisted up, far more proficient this time, and felt for the weapon before she rolled herself into the waiting wrap once again. “Deej,” she breathed as she made her way down the dank opening. “It’s me. Can you hear me?” A crackle, but no affirmation.

She knew there was a chance that they’d been discovered and by revealing her plans, she’d be putting information right smack into the twisted enemies’ hands.

“Deej. George,” she whispered, but only received static as an answer. The tunnel combined with the tight fitting wrap probably made the reception difficult under the best of circumstances. She shimmied and prayed and reached the netting at the opposite end far quicker than she had the last time. She peered over, saw nothing and leapt, not even bothering to pull the wrap from her body. She landed and turned to all sides.

Whew.

Beth bolted, but had no idea where Chris was; where a deranged maniac would keep him. “Deej,” she breathed, more for herself and the contact of it than with any real expectation that he’d be there with an answer.

Without warning, a group of white shrouded women appeared around a corner, holding baskets laden with fruit, chanting and staring straight ahead. They passed her without so much as a glance. A little girl was gripped firmly by her mother. She turned back as they passed and gave Beth a sad smile. Just as quickly they disappeared around a corner.

Time was ticking; Beth could almost hear the grains of sand dripping through an hourglass. It was up to her. She couldn’t think about her odds dwindling with each crystal that fell. She ran in the opposite direction of her earlier outing since she’d covered most of that area previously and there was no sign of him. She thought of the layout of the west turret as she darted. She’d spotted a stairwell not far from the one that led up. Perhaps they’d taken him by way of that. It was close and probably far easier than trying to lug a resistant prisoner clear across a medieval fortress. Beth paused and calculated. Her mind whirled until she made sense of the best route to lead her up and around and back to that general area without retracing steps. She bolted with her hand covering her weapon just in case.

She’d made it through two separate corridors when it happened.

The descending of devoted thugs.

“Halt!” one actually called out and she waited for the, ‘
Who goes there
?’

Beth spun, but only to find three more behind her. “Deej,” she whispered to no avail and then there was nothing left to do. She spun, gave a mighty kick to the jaw of the biggest who was unbalanced enough to topple against the one behind him, both falling to the floor in a heap. The third lifted a carbine, but Beth
,
who was trained by the best of the best, snagged hers, fired a shot through the hand nearest the trigger. He yelped, but was only wounded as was her plan.

Startled, the original three poised their guns, but hesitated and she caught it. They were instructed to take her kicking and screaming if need be, but not harmed.

Bryan Holden wanted to do the honor himself.

Sneaky and in no way fighting fair, Beth aimed and took out three hands--for some reason she’d always been a crack shot when it came to trigger fingers--one right after the other. Blood oozed amongst cries of the surprised brainwashed as she spun and bolted, not knowing where she was going, but figuring it out as she went.

She approached the hoard of women she’d seen earlier
who
most certainly had heard the nearby shots, but kept on walking, chanting. She thought briefly of grabbing one, getting her submissive little neck in a headlock and threatening with the still smoking gun, but the little girl, not much older than Audrey and the only one who seemed to notice her at all, looked questioning. Beth trotted on, said a silent ‘
I’m sorry
,’ to Chris just in case they may have been the key to his location and tried to think.

Mercifully she heard a crackle from her microphone. She ducked into a deserted corridor and realized quickly it was some sort of gallery. Spooky and dull eyes followed her every move. “Deej?”

“It’s George. We heard shots.”

“It was me. I’m fine though.”

“They fired?”

“No, I’m in the corridor. Joanna King knows…it’s a long story, but they’re on to me. I fired, but aimed for their hands.”

“Good girl,” George said with a smile in his voice.

Beth squeezed her eyes and tried not to remember Chris giving her the tip.
Hands will hurt like hell, knees will maim, but the bad guy would still be living to testify.
She’d
never forgotten it.

“We’re coming in, Bethie. We have some good backup and will be moving within the hour. I think you should know the press got wind of it. CNN cameras are at the gate. It’s over. One way or another it’s over.”

“I have to find him.”

“Beth--”
             
“I’m not stopping now, George.”
             
He sighed and Deej came on the line. “Any idea where he is, Bethie?”

“That’s the problem. This place is enormous. I thought maybe Joanna King would help me, but she blew me in instead.”

“Dungeon.”

Beth struggled to hear the distant word. “What?”

“Dungeon. They’re medieval in structure. They probably threw him in a dungeon. Aim down, Bethie.”

And it made perfect sense.

“We’ll be there soon,” Deej breathed and Beth cowered behind an ancient dusty chair.

Footsteps descended and Beth was certain anyone who cared to listen would hear the thrumming of her heart. She saw a rifle with a laser and prayed it wouldn’t investigate this gallery of distant faces and eerie eyes. She thought of Chris and Noah and Audrey and George. She thought of life and love and sorrow and shame. Her heart pounded with each footstep and prayed with each pause. Her hand reached to cover the tiny gun she’d once again concealed as she sucked in a breath and waited.

The person was close now, hovering just beyond the chair that made her want to sneeze if she thought about it so she didn’t. She just waited for him to pass, to deem it clear and go on to another darkened corridor carved from stone.

“Hello?” a voice called.

Oh sure, like she was going to answer.

Time was ticking, ticking like it hadn’t since all this had begun and it had seemed to go pretty fast a couple of other times. These psychotics had the advantage of knowing where Chris was; knowing where her handsome husband who had always been the hero was stashed, hopefully alive, but undoubtedly broken.

Her mind spun and the guard did too. Then she felt it. A hand gripping her shoulder lifting her up pulling her out while the eyes that surrounded her from Gothic frames watched merrily.