Jekyll, an Urban Fantasy (6 page)

He nodded slowly. Sadly. “Yeah, they should’ve.”

“Why do you work for them? Was it the only gig you could get?”

“I do what I have to do,” he said tightly.

“Believe me, Fields, whatever they are paying you is
not
worth it. Plus, I’m sure there are a million other places that need big, burly guys to stand there with their arms crossed all day.
Millions
. And I bet they don’t involve fighting off small women either.”

“Yeah, I’m sure there are.” His grin was short-lived. “But I’m not in it for the arm-crossing. Or the small women.”

“What
are
you in it for?”

He ran his hand across his jaw and glanced behind him. “You really want to know?”

“Did I really ask the question?”

After another quick glance around, looking for who-knows-what, he said, “Come on.”

She followed him through the door, but instead of turning left and heading back to where they’d started, they turned right. Her steps were quick and light next to his long, confident ones. She had to be ready for anything. Wherever he was taking her, whatever he would show her, was suspect. The nagging fear that had been present since she woke up was so far
beyond
overwhelming, she worried she’d start screaming uncontrollably any minute. If Chastity let her.

“Keep up.” Fields didn’t turn around, didn’t check to make sure she was following. Almost as if he trusted her. That she wouldn’t run for it or fight him. And he was probably right. Where would she go? What harm could she do to a 6’3” mass of muscle who’d already proven what he could do to
her
?

After passing a few doors, he stopped in front of one. Then he took out a keycard that looked exactly like the one she’d seen Alex use and unlocked the door. Another stab of dread went through her, but her only reaction was a wide stance, bent knees, and fisted hands. The unexpected was becoming normal. Almost.

“Aren’t you supposed to knock or something?” she joked to cover her fear of what the hell was behind that door.

“No one’s here yet.”

Yet
.

He went in first, not even bothering to be gentlemanly about it. He probably knew better. She was no lady he needed to impress. Not anymore, maybe not ever. And he probably understood that walking through a door someone opens for you is never a good idea. Because it’s stupid to think that anyone cares as much about
you
as they do about themselves.

The room was a long rectangle. Four hospital beds with brightly-colored pillows and blankets stuck out into a thin aisle, two against each sage-colored wall. Next to them were machines that looked like they belonged in the ICU. Without the lines or beeps. In fact, there was an eerie silence in this place, even more deafening than in the other parts of the building.

Staring at the beds, counting and recounting them, Eden took a deep breath, inhaling disinfected air.
Four.
They wouldn’t have four beds unless there were people to fill them. Were there four people like her sleeping here? Where were they now?

It was a very sad place. Despite the festive linens. Huh. Guess that meant she was wrong about pillows livening up a space.

“It isn’t the Ritz,
that’s
for sure.” She walked to the closest bed, picked up the pillow, and tossed it into the air. “Is this where they want me to stay?”

Fields shook his head. “No. If you decide to stay, you’ll have your own room.”

“If I
decide
to stay?” She shook her head. “Please, Fields. Don’t lie to me.”

“I’m not lying. As far as I know, as far as they’ve told me, you’re free to go whenever you want.”

She didn’t believe it. But she’d know soon enough. Once she heard what they had to say, she’d run out of this place, find Mitch, and then figure out how much of what they’d told her was a lie.

Fields slowly approached the bed across the room from where she stood, picked up the purple pillow and fluffed it. Then he gently put it back and smoothed the sheet.

“Why are we here?” she asked.

He didn’t say anything for a moment, just tucked the edges of the sheet under the blanket in an almost-reverent manner. “This is where my daughter sleeps. Every four nights. The rest of the time, she lives with me.” He didn’t look up, and for that Eden was glad. Because she didn’t want to see his face.

“And these”—he reached under the side of the bed and yanked on something—“are what she gets strapped into once she transforms.” He stood back, exposing the shackles at both ends of the bed. His lips were tight, made even tighter each time a whimper threatened to crest them. His strong chest jerked as he held back his emotion.

“Your daughter. She’s”—she cleared her throat—“like me?”

His eyebrows came together as he shook his head. “No, not like you. Not exactly. I mean, she’s a Jekyll. But, like the others, she’s only half. My wife,” he said, as if that explained everything.

“Does your wife sleep here too?”

“My wife is dead.”

“Oh. I’m…sorry.” What a lame response, but what else could she say? The man was obviously grieving something. Maybe his wife’s death, maybe his daughter’s transformations, who knew? “Why don’t they give your daughter the serum?”

“Because it’s imperfect. It takes a huge toll on the body.”

“Wow, I’m
so
glad they told me about possible side-effects before they started giving it to me.” She opened her eyes and mouth as wide as they would go. “Oh wait, they didn’t even tell me they were
giving
it to me. Oops.”

His eyes narrowed briefly. “It doesn’t work on most of you. Alicia would have to take ten times what you used to, and it
still
wouldn’t work consistently. That’s why you got to live a normal life while they were giving it to you.”

“That doesn’t make me lucky, Fields. That makes me an unwilling participant in their drug trial.”

“They’ve made mistakes, done things I don’t agree with. But everything they do will help my daughter. And now, they think you have the answer. The cure.” His stare made Eden take a step backwards with its intensity. “In your blood or your DNA. They think something inside of you can stop it all from happening. To everyone. To my little girl.”

“There’s
nothing
special about me, Fields.” It wasn’t a lie. ‘Special’ wasn’t a word she’d use. And until she understood just what Chastity had taken away from her, she didn’t know what word
to
use. “I’m sorry, I wish I could help you, but I’m not any different than any other…Jekyll.” God, she hated that word. Hated being part of a
group
of monsters even more than she hated
being
a monster. Knowing there were others, at least four more who were still living, made her want to weep along with her guard.

“You’re wrong, Eden. You
are
different. Did you know there’s only been one case of someone born of two...”

She saw him stumble over the word. Abnormals. He couldn’t call a group that his daughter was part of ‘Abnormals’. She understood—
being
part of that group wasn’t fun either.

He swallowed before continuing his thought. “That The Clinic has found.”

“Sucks for them.” She rubbed her arms briskly as the cold air of the room started to get to her. “But what does that have to do with me?”
Please don’t answer. Please don’t answer. Please don’t answer. Not with what I think you’re going to.

“Because both your parents were...you know,” he said, confused.

“Dead?” she spat. “Junkies? Both? What?”
Don’t answer!

“You
really
don’t know about your parents?” he asked, surprise mixing with the sadness in his eyes.

She felt her anger overwhelm her fear. “Not sure about my father, but yeah, I’m well aware of the life my mom had. Thanks a lot.”

“Eden, you’re the offspring of a Jekyll
and
a Hyde.”

No
. A shiver slid like a snake up her body, wrapping itself around her chest until she had to fight for air.
No
. “Sorry, Fields, but you’re wrong. My mom was an addict. She had mental issues, she didn’t transform.”
That you know of. But you were only a kid
.

“And no one
knows
who my father was,” she continued. “My mom barely even remembered his name.” She laughed, the sound weak and false.
Wrong again, Eden.
Her mother had loved him so much that she didn’t
want
to repeat his name, only saying it when she was so drunk or high she didn’t know
what
she was doing. Not knowing that her little girl hung on every word because she wanted
so
much to know about her father.

“Shit,” she said. “I don’t even remember it.”

“Ian,” he said aloud at the same moment she said it silently.
Ian
.

The name hung in the air between them. The only thing she knew about her biological father, other than that he was a bastard who had left her mom right after he’d knocked her up.

Ian. Not a particularly common name,
certainly
not the name one would just throw out as a guess in a situation like this. If there
were
situations like this. For normal people.

“About a month ago,” Fields said, “my daughter almost died. They saved her, but there’s no guarantee it won’t happen again. If you help them, maybe someday there
will
be a guarantee.”

“They think I can help just because I got royally screwed-over in the genetics department?”
Thanks, mom and dad.
What did that make her? A double freak? A cross-breed between two Abnormals? A mutt?

“You’re different than any other.
That’s
why you have to stay. Or, at least, come back regularly so they can figure out what’s going on—how you’ve been able to mesh your Jekyll with your human side.”

“How do they know
that
?”

“Well, your eyes for one. And from the little I know of how you used to be, I can’t imagine you’d have been so difficult to subdue a few weeks ago. The speed of your healing. That’s all part of being a Jekyll. But you’re smart, emotional, not as single-minded as a true Jekyll is.” He glanced at the bed.

“I’m no different than she is, Fields.”

“You’re wrong.
Please
, give them some time to figure it out. I know they don’t want to force you, but you have to agree. Think of all the people you’ll save.” His steps were fast as he crossed the room. “You have to help us.”

She backed away, knocking one of the machines over. The sound of glass shattering, metal hitting tile, stopped him. Broke him out of his trance. He blinked, shaking his head to wake himself up, blood rushing to his cheeks.

“I’m sorry, Eden. I didn’t mean to— I’m not going to hurt you.”

“I take it back, Fields. I don’t trust
anyone
in this place.” As she walked by him, she slugged him in the arm. He could blame it on her abnormal-side or whatever-the-hell-else he wanted to blame it on. She knew what had caused the reaction. And knew just how human it was.

It took two men to pull Mitch off the other guy. His vision didn’t clear until they threw him against the cinderblock wall. He shook himself off and picked a piece of cement out of a bleeding gash on his shoulder.

That hurt.

The man he’d just beaten was lying motionless in the middle of the chalk-outlined square, while a couple people took turns checking to see if he was still breathing.

Mitch knew the men who’d pulled him off were screaming at him. But it was as if he were in a tunnel about a half a mile away. He saw their jaws moving, fists clenched or angrily thrown up occasionally, but he could barely hear them.

He didn’t want to hurt anyone…too badly. But this was the only way he could feel peace. The only way to quiet Hyde. Shit, it was the only way Mitch could shut his mind off from thinking about
her
. For him, fighting was like a brief visit to nirvana, like some kind of fucked-up Zen garden. Every punch he threw, every kick he felt make contact, numbed him. Like meditation. And he’d been meditating a hell of a lot lately. First at the gym, but that was short-lived. They wore gloves there. Fucking pussies.

No, he’d had to find underground fights—no rules, no gloves, no chit-chat, no bullshit. They moved from location to location, to avoid gawkers and cops. If these guys had
any
idea Landon used to be a detective and still had connections—albeit useless ones—at the station, they would’ve all pounced. Huh. One against, maybe, ten? That might be a good thing. Mitch would be bleeding and in pain for weeks. It’d be worth it. Too bad Landon hadn’t come with him this time. For some reason, the cop didn’t enjoy watching Mitch get the shit kicked out of him. Or it could’ve been that he didn’t like what the
other
guy looked like once Mitch was done fighting.

The only thing that worked to blind him was to be blinded. Literally sometimes, when he went up against an opponent who was fast enough to nail him in the face a few times. But it was getting harder and harder to find someone who would fight him. In fact, with all of the bad Fight Club jokes he kept making, it was getting harder to find someone who would tell him where the next
meet-up
would be. Desperate times called for desperate measures. He needed to try being a gracious winner.

“Thank you for the lovely evening, gentlemen.” He saluted awkwardly, wondering how many of his bones were broken this time. He pushed past the men, still not knowing—or caring—what they were saying. The crowd around his opponent looked at him menacingly as he approached. They had no idea what menacing looked like. What Mitch saw in the mirror every day. Just under his skin.

His beauty truly was only skin deep. Except now.
No, right now even your skin is probably pretty fucking ugly, asshole.

When he looked down at the man he’d defeated, he saw drops of his own blood land on the guy’s shoulder. Now, not
only
was that highly non-hygienic, but it was also very disrespectful. He wiped his mouth, thinking the blood was probably coming from there. Then he wiped his forehead just in case. “Fuck,” he yelled as the sting hit. That one might even need stitches. Until Hyde’s good, good healing kicked in and forced Mitch back in the ring.