Lesser Gods (21 page)

Again and again he kicked me. I no longer had the strength do anything but take it.

My ears ringing from the pounding, I nevertheless heard Growler spit loudly. He probably had spat on me, but I couldn’t tell. Nor did I care.

“You remember that, filthy demon!” said Growler, and I could feel his hot breath on my face. “I’m too strong for you!”

Footsteps. Darkness. The door slammed, and I was alone.

I couldn’t move at all. I lay on my back, unable to even cry, my eyes open but unseeing in more ways than one.

The pain came and went. My very existence seemed to flicker like a candle in the wind. I saw flashes of shadowy light behind my eyes and wondered if perhaps I was already dead.

Demon! Filthy demon!

So much hatred... Where did it come from?

In a word, Adrian, fear. Like all uneducated people, they fear what they don’t understand, and what they fear, they try to destroy.

I couldn’t understand the Slayers. I didn’t want to understand the Slayers.

Hours, maybe days passed, but no more meals were delivered. Not that I would have been able to eat. My ribs were shattered. I couldn’t even lift myself into a sitting position. I coughed up blood. A lot of blood.

I must have slept some, because I saw Alia in yet another dream. I tried to call to her, but no sound came out. My chest was pierced by dozens of long knives.

Awake again. But it hardly made a difference. My eyes were dead. My ears heard nothing. My mouth felt like it had been packed with hot sand. I could no longer feel the floor under my body.

I wanted to sleep. I wanted to go to sleep and not wake up. That’s all I wished for now, and as I closed my eyes, I had a feeling this final mercy just might be granted.

There was Alia again, and Cindy and Terry as well. I glided slowly toward them in the darkness.

“Over here, Addy!”
Alia’s voice called in my head, but suddenly I could no longer see any of them.

I opened my eyes to murky darkness. I could hear distant popping noises. Was I still dreaming?

The door banged open.

“I’m going to rip you to pieces, demon!” screamed Growler.

Two loud gunshots echoed across the room, followed by a dull, heavy thud.

I closed my eyes again as I heard a distant male voice say, “Lancer One to Raven One, the basement is clear. We have the target. Repeat, we have Hansel. Over.”

“Dead or alive? Over.”

“Unsure. You’d better send Raven Two down immediately. Over.”

“Roger that. The upper floors are nearly secured. Raven Two is heading in now. Standby. Over.”

No! I couldn’t go through this again. So many times I had dreamed of being rescued. Enough! No more lies. No more voices. Just let me die in peace.

Please just let me die.

“It’s okay, Addy,”
said Alia’s gentle voice in my head.
“I’m with you now.”

“You’re... not real... you’re just another...” I mumbled.

I felt small, soft fingers on the palm of my right hand, and then a slight squeeze.
“I’m right here, Addy.”

A man’s voice said, “He’s bleeding internally, Gretel. Work from the inside or he’ll go into shock soon.”

“I know what I’m doing, Proton!” Alia’s awkward shout echoed around the room. “Blade, get that thing off his leg!”

I slowly opened my eyes, and I could almost see her leaning over me.

Pausing for breath after every word, I somehow managed to say, “What are you doing here, Alia?”

“I promised I would keep you alive, Addy. No matter what, remember? This is me keeping you alive.”

Chapter 7: Lives So Changed

Wrapping what felt like a large bath towel around me, they put me on a stretcher and carried me to a soft bed somewhere in the Slayers’ house. They pumped desperately needed fluids into my body through an intravenous feed and also by giving me lots of water to drink.

Removing the bandages from my left calf, Alia told me that she couldn’t heal my leg completely because it was still too dirty to close up. Instead, she worked a quick internal fix before applying some disinfectant, and then dressed the injury with cotton. In addition to the gunshot wound, Alia healed ten broken ribs, three broken fingers, and too many cuts and bruises to count. The fingers were especially painful because they had to be properly straightened before Alia could use her power on them. It took my sister more than an hour to heal me to the point where I felt I could just barely sit up. Even with short breaks, Alia was breathing heavily and I could tell that she was stretching her power to the limit. Alia didn’t try to heal my eyes, and when I asked her what had happened to them, she didn’t reply. Knowing she was focusing all of her energy on healing me, I didn’t press the matter.

“Enough, Ali,” I said. “I can get up.”

Alia replied telepathically,
“They’re bringing a wheelchair, Addy.”

“No,” I insisted, “I can walk.”

“But you won’t, Adrian!”
she said fiercely.
“You’re in my care and you’ll do as you’re told.”

Alia had never called me Adrian before.

“Whatever you say, Doctor,” I breathed weakly, resting my head back on the pillow. I was pretty sure that I wasn’t going to win any arguments today anyway.

I heard a man ask loudly from outside the room, “Is he in there?”

It was Mr. Baker’s voice. The door opened a moment later, and Mr. Baker said, “Adrian! My goodness, you’re alive! I could hardly believe it when I heard. I just called Cindy and told her. Terry is still out looking for... Oh, Jesus! What have they done to your eyes!?”

“I was wondering the same thing, Mr. Baker,” I said. “I asked Alia, but she wouldn’t tell me.”

“Well, it looks like they stabbed your eyes with knives. Can you see at all?”

“Light and shadow,” I replied.

“Hmm,” said Mr. Baker. “Well, let’s get you back to New Haven. The sooner the better.”

Then Mr. Baker said in a surprised tone, “Whoa, Alia! Are you alright?”

“I’m okay,” Alia said weakly. “Just... just tired.”

I couldn’t see what Alia had done to make Mr. Baker jump, but I guessed that she was on the verge of collapse from exhaustion.

“Sorry I wasn’t here sooner to help with the healing,” said Mr. Baker. “It took longer than I had hoped to fly in.”

Then I heard a girl’s voice shout, “Adrian! You’re really alive!”

“Terry?” I called.

I heard her footsteps rush up to my bed, and I asked, “Where were you?”

“Out looking for strays with Swoop,” she replied. “This place is a bit of a fortress, and a few escaped through a tunnel in the first basement. Oh, Adrian!”

“Yes, Terry,” I said, smiling weakly, “someone stuck knives into my eyes. Where’s Cindy?”

“Back in New Haven, of course!” snapped Terry, her voice quivering. “Maybe you haven’t noticed, but Cindy has more important things to do than waste time chasing after you!”

“I’m sorry,” I said, taken aback.

Terry continued in a rapid voice, “Actually, in return for her staying in New Haven and keeping her hiding bubble over the city, Mr. Baker promised Cindy that he would direct all Guardian resources toward finding you. You obviously can’t see it, but we actually have two Knight units here today, the Ravens as well as the Lancers. Lancers usually don’t bother with anti-Slayer operations.”

I wasn’t sure how to respond. Terry hadn’t said all that in order to inform me about Guardian operations, but to hide her feelings behind a barrage of words. I guessed that she felt responsible for what had happened to me.

“I’m okay, Terry,” I said. “Really. I’m okay.”

I felt Terry’s hand lightly touch my left shoulder, and I brought my right hand to it. “I’m still alive,” I said, gripping her hand.

Then I said, “Thank you, Mr. Baker. Thank you for all of this.”

I heard Mr. Baker say, “The wheelchair is here. Let’s get you out of this place.”

“Wait,” I said. “Mr. Baker, what happened to the Slayers?”

“Lancer and Raven leaders reported that we killed most of them. The survivors are currently locked down in the subbasement where they had been keeping you.”

“What will happen to them?” I asked.

Terry answered, “Adrian, you know what happens to Slayers.”

I did. They would be interrogated and then executed.

“Take me down there,” I said. “Please.”

Mr. Baker said, “I’m sorry, but there are stairs that your chair won’t navigate.”

“Then ask the survivors their names,” I said. “If there is a Charles, would you please bring him to me?”

“Very well,” said Mr. Baker. “But let’s not keep our plane waiting much longer.”

A few minutes later, I heard several pairs of footsteps enter the room.

Charles’s voice called, “Adrian!”

I turned my head toward the voice, saying, “You’re alive.”

“For now,” replied Charles, his voice surprisingly calm.

“So what do you want with this scumbag, Adrian?” asked Terry. “What did he do to you?”

“I want him spared,” I told her. “He saved my life.”

Terry let out an audible huff. “Same old Adrian.”

I corrected myself, saying, “I just want him spared from the interrogation, Terry.”

Then I said, “Charles, you know that I can’t stop the Guardians from killing you.”

Charles replied gently, “I know that, Adrian.”

“Mr. Baker,” I said carefully, “after everything you have done for me, I know I have no right to ask this, but could you please make sure that Charles’s death is painless?”

Mr. Baker didn’t answer immediately. I heard Terry huff angrily again.

While wondering what Mr. Baker’s answer would be, I also worried about how Alia was taking in my words. My sister didn’t say anything aloud or telepathically, and I couldn’t see her expression. With her listening in, I felt very awkward discussing the nature (as opposed to the cancellation) of a man’s execution, but I couldn’t exactly shove her off my bed this time.

Mr. Baker finally said, “Sure thing, Adrian. You don’t mind us questioning the others?”

“I don’t mind in the least,” I replied, and I didn’t.

Charles’s voice asked hesitantly, “May I request one hour to pray?”

“You will have it,” promised Mr. Baker. Then he said in a commanding voice to Knights I couldn’t see, “Take this man to a quiet room and give him an hour, after which you will please make sure his end is painless.”

“Yes, sir,” replied a Knight.

“Adrian?” said Mr. Baker. “Are you ready to go now?”

Terry added sarcastically, “Or are there any other friends you want to thank for their hospitality?!”

I smiled. Same old Terry.

“Come on, Addy,”
Alia said softly in my head.
“Let’s go home.”

Someone removed the towel covering my body and wrapped me up in a soft blanket. Then I was helped into a wheelchair and taken out of the house.

I felt the warmth of the sun on my face and looked up at the sky. I couldn’t tell where the sun actually was, but it felt great. I breathed in the fresh, sweet-smelling air and wondered if I was being wheeled through a flower garden.

“Where are you taking me?” I asked as I felt my chair being pushed over the smooth pavement.

“To a car, a plane, and home,” replied Terry, who sounded like she was walking alongside me. “I promised Cindy I’d have you back by her birthday, and it’s already been a week since then. You’ll be in New Haven for dinner.”

“Thank you, Terry.”

“I promised her that I’d keep you out of trouble, so that’s two broken promises to Cindy already,” said Terry.

The wheelchair stopped.

“Here we are,” said Terry. “Let me help you in.”

I was about to protest, but then I thought better of it. Terry took my left side, and Alia helped me on my right as they led me into the rear seat of a car. I sat sandwiched between them as I heard someone else fold up my wheelchair and stow it somewhere. Doors closed, the engine started, and I felt a cool blast of air on my face.

“Ugh, Adrian, you need a bath!” said Terry. “Hey, would you cut the AC, Blade? Let’s open the windows.”

“I didn’t want to say it first, Addy, but Terry’s right,”
Alia whispered in my mind.
“You really smell bad.”

“Sorry,” I mumbled.

My nose had become accustomed to my own odor. I could only imagine what sitting next to me must have been like. All the windows were rolled down, and my escorts breathed easier. I preferred the outside air anyway.

“I wish we had time to get you cleaned up before Cindy sees you,” said Terry. “But I suppose you can take a week-long bath once we’re back home.”

I tugged my blanket more snugly around me. Now that I was in better spirits, I couldn’t help feeling embarrassed at the state Alia had found me in. It’s not like she had never seen me unclothed before, but still, what a sight I must have been on the basement floor with that shackle around my ankle. At least I had been sufficiently covered by the time Terry came.

“What time is it?” I asked.

“Morning,” replied Terry. “July 24th.”

I was still too dazed to do the math. “How many days was I gone?”

“Seventeen. I’m pretty sure that’s a record for any psionic in Slayer custody. Slayers aren’t known for keeping their victims waiting.”

Seventeen days... Two and a half weeks didn’t sound like a very long time, but it felt like I had been down there at least twice as long as the months I had spent at the Psionic Research Center.

“What took you guys so long?” I asked, managing to smile and not sound accusing.

“None of our finders could sense you,” said Terry. “It’s no wonder, since you were two stories underground. You were being drained too, weren’t you?”

“Constantly.”

“You know that draining lessens psionic presence, right?”

“Actually, I didn’t,” I admitted.

“Well, it does. It’s not like being properly hidden, but being drained
and
underground pretty much makes you invisible even to a good finder.”

“Then how did you find me?”

“We gathered information about the various Slayer groups in the Holy Land from their computer files,” explained Terry. “Of course, that didn’t tell us which group had you, so this is actually our third raid. And this hideout wasn’t on any map either, so we had to follow Father Lestor, who runs this faction of Slayers. Or, rather, used to.”