No Sorrow Like Separation (The Commander Book 5) (17 page)

After a half hour, I heard the man start snoring.  In fact, everyone in the house was asleep.  How fortuitous!  Yes, this was the omen I waited for.  I climbed into the house through the window and hauled this man, Fred Raindorf by name, out by main force.  I took him to the house of my previous attempt, empty now except for the body.  I hadn’t anticipated the effect, but watching Fred’s face, I knew the body made a good recruiting prop. You could say the remains set the atmosphere.  In my foul mood of earlier that day, I had done some Keatonic decorating with the body.  If you know what I mean.

The ritual worked its magic again, as Fred turned out to be another prison guard.  This time, one of the bad seeds all prisons attracted.  I didn’t take long to recruit him.  He understood power and cruelty very well, both the giving and the receiving.  You shit down and kiss up.  Once I established my bona fides (that is,
up
) he proved willing to do absolutely whatever I wanted.  Eager, even.  So long as I remained the strongest, meanest thing he had ever seen he would do almost anything for me.

Unfortunately the ‘almost’ was: think clearly for me so I could leech off his reactions.  I didn’t trust what went on in his mind.  Exasperated, I asked if he thought he was stupid or something.  He actually answered “Yes.”  Takes all kinds.

Fred gave me the prison layout, the prisoner schedules, and everything I needed to know about my target, the former Doctor Henry Zielinski.  I told him I wanted chaos tonight in the prison.  He called the prison and arranged to trade shifts with one of the night guards.  Happily, he promised me he would arrange chaos.  The prison was a minimum security affair, with several low buildings filled with cells and high fences topped with loops of barbed wire.  I was already inside the prison when, to my surprise, the lights went out.  An omen!  I took keys from a couple of guards and started opening cells.  To the first few released prisoners, I handed the keys, and some knives.  This seemed appropriate if I wanted chaos.  Unfortunately, the prisoners looked more like accountants than thugs, and I doubted they would be able to create much chaos, but, well, at least it was dark.

That prison was the oddest place.  It had Monsters.  Now, what in the hell would Monsters be doing in a prison?  Had the powers-that-be switched to a policy of incarceration for Monsters instead of ‘kill on sight’?  Did we have a prison full of Monsters doing time for robbery and murder?  Complete with government appointed lawyers?

Quick as a wink, I found Zielinski.  He had two roomies, one of which was, of all things, an exotic looking Transform with a messed up Rizzari tag.  I took Keaton’s complaint to heart about taking initiative and turning surprises into opportunities, so I grabbed the exotic Transform as well as Zielinski.  On the way out, I corralled Raindorf, following another rule: always clean up your mess.  He was surprised to see me again, in several ways, but he didn’t cause me any trouble.

Easy as a dream.

Save that Zielinski’s other cellmate, the normal, gave off all the wrong signs.  Shouldn’t he have been glad I freed him from prison?  Bad omen for him.  I decided to be accommodating and so I left him behind.  Another problem was I got nothing, nada, zilch, from Zielinski.  Of all things, he had gotten better at hiding his signals, which meant I wouldn’t be leeching any brainpower off of him.  Nor could I figure out why the one possession he took with him from his prison cell was a camera.

Zielinski started in with the questions less than three minutes out of his cell.  We were still slipping through the dark Adirondack trees.  On foot.

“Carol, what’s going…” he started to ask.  I interrupted.

“If you don’t shut the hell up, I’ll gag you,” I said, harsher than I intended.  Much harsher.  My instincts were very unhappy.  Something was wrong.

Zielinski wisely shut up.

We made it to my hidden car with no problems.  I drove in silence with Fred sitting next to me, Zielinski with his hands tied in the back seat, and Sam, the tagged Transform, curled up in a ball as far away from me as he could get.  I kept his feet tied: my intuition said he thought of running.  My intuition also said he looked like a Crow, which I didn’t understand on several levels.

I remained angry.  I hated when things didn’t make sense.  Too many things were going wrong here that I couldn’t understand, making me helpless and vulnerable to whatever nasty surprises the world cooked up for me.  Plus, besides all the mysteries I recognized, odd emotions were crawling to the surface, for no reason I could identify.  There was a rage coming from some dark place inside of me, hot, black rage.  Why?  I didn’t understand.  Every time I looked at Zielinski, I got angry.  Another mystery, and all I figured out was ‘ongoing trouble, soon’.

What’s more, the whole escape business had been too easy.  Even with only half a mind I had made horseshit out of the prison defenses.  I didn’t have to kill anyone inside the prison.  Wasn’t this supposed to be harder?  Or: if this was so easy, why didn’t everyone do it?  Or had I triggered a trap, somehow, that was about to close around me?  The lack of roads in this area made me nervous.  My instincts envisioned one of the Fed’s instant Arm Task Force squads able to cut me off in here, even if the area was nearly the size of Connecticut.  I told myself I would feel better once I got out of the Adirondacks.

I didn’t.

We spent the night in Knoxville.  Even an extensive after-hours gym run didn’t improve my mood.  As we drove through Memphis the next day I spotted the juice trace of an untagged Transform.  Ahhh.  Pennies from heaven, so I stopped in a dime store parking lot.  I found my prey in a drug store across the street, right out in the open.  This was the end of travel for the day because I had gone into my stalk.

Not one of my stellar moments.  It took me half the night to find Raindorf, Sam and Zielinski again after I made my kill and entertained myself.

Surprise, surprise, I still wanted to kill Zielinski and juice suck Sam.  I had the urge to beat my head against the cinderblock walls of the motel.

I stewed as I drove along the long southern interstates.  The situation remained out of hand.  I lasted until late afternoon the next day before I decided I couldn’t drive all the way back to San Fran without a resolution to the problems I had with Sam and Zielinski.  I stopped us in Oklahoma City.  I left my three boys in a no-tell motel and did some house hunting.  I wanted a vacant house for several days.  You can’t pickpocket a house, but an Arm can come pretty close.  I ended up with some oil company executive’s place on the southeast side of town, on a five-acre estate with lots of privacy, and an owner on an extended trip to the Mideast.  The old pasturage land was now grown up with various scrub bushes and cedars.  Good cover.  After finalizing the deal on the place (so to speak) I fixed myself a real full-sized meal and exercised at a local boxer’s gym until I shook on the floor.  Afterwards, I got a good night’s sleep, all alone with my thoughts and worries.  Early the next morning, I collected my boys and drove back.

The gravel driveway crunched under my tires as I drove in.  Zielinski shifted behind me to look out the window.  Raindorf snored quietly with his head against the door.  Sam looked around like a terrified rabbit, something he had been doing ever since Memphis.  I parked the car by the back door, under a huge shade awning.  Spring in the northeast became summer in Oklahoma.  Shade was important.  I checked to make sure the shade didn’t wander.  If it had, that would have been a very bad omen.

I was edgy when I shouldn’t be.  I told myself to calm down, but the calm refused to come.  Lust, unresolved anger and the lingering high from the kill two days ago all pulsed through me, awakening my temper and weakening my self-control.  Just the thought of tagging Zielinski sent a flash of heat through me; I felt like something grabbed between my legs and squeezed.  I wanted to hurt Zielinski so badly I could taste his pain.

“Out,” I said, as I got out of the car, my voice rough with lust and anger.  They did as told while I shifted and stalked with uncontrolled energy.

They backed away from me when they got out of the car, first Sam, then Raindorf and then Zielinski, stepping backwards as warily as their bonds allowed.  They felt the predator effect.  My signals were strong.

“Oh, no,” I said softly.  “You’re coming into the house.  We need to discuss some things.”

Although badly frightened, they knew better than to cross me.  They looked around like trapped calves ready to transform into veal.

I smiled, and waved them on into the house.

Anticipation, as they made their slow way to the living room, a high vaulting cavern filled with imitation antiques.  The stalk, as I followed them in.  The pounce, as I caught Zielinski when he wasn’t ready for it.

The kill, but there would be no kill.  I held his neck in my hand, forcing him against the wall, and smiled as he choked and struggled.  The pictures on the wall rattled and shook, dozens of them.  Mr. Oil Company Executive shaking hands with various politicians, Mr. Oil Company Executive at various charity events, Mr. Oil Company Executive golfing.  Zielinski tried to tell me something, but I wouldn’t let him talk.  He gripped my one hand tightly with both of his bound hands and tried to free himself, which had no effect at all.  His few remaining hairs, much grayer than I remembered, flew loosely as he struggled.  Sweat poured down his lined face and the only sound from his throat was a helpless little choking sound.  I stuck a knife on his neck to quiet him.  He didn’t.  I snarled, and with the trembling of my angry hands my knife drew blood, a few beads to roll across his neck and down on his shirt.

Zielinski closed his eyes, but instead of fear, he gave me acceptance.  White hot anger flashed in me at his strength.  I heard Raindorf’s voice, the hard voice of a weak man, urging “Kill him, kill him!”  On the other side of the room, Sam readied some sort of juice weapon, some mean and nasty surprise likely care of Focus Rizzari.

The sharp edge of decision shivered and I fell.

Raindorf hit the opposite wall with a thud, an impact that knocked the breath out of him and sounded like it shifted a stud.  I hit him again before he inhaled.  My lust and anger and frustrated cruelty came over me in a wave and I let it all out free.  On Raindorf.

“No, please,” Raindorf said in desperation, when we got to the bedroom and I started taking his clothes off.  “I don’t do it with men.”

Raindorf was the problem.  I needed to clear his polluted thoughts out of my mind.  I realized he still thought I was a man and I laughed, a sound rough with lust and cruelty.  “You’ll do anything I want you to, won’t you?”

“Please, don’t make me do this,” he said. “Please.”

I laughed again.  My ministrations only got worse from there.

I took Raindorf in that dark bedroom, full of lust and empty of control.  I worked my leash far, far into his soul.  There in that bedroom, this deeply flawed man let me.  When I finished with him, he hated me, he loved me, and he worshipped the ground I walked on.  He wasn’t sane when I finished, but then, he hadn’t been sane when I started.  I had no need to tag Fred Raindorf to hold him, but I did so anyway.  Keaton’s orders: always have a backup plan.  In this case, the tag would serve as a backup.

I didn’t finish with Raindorf until after noon.  I left him alone to pull together the remnants of his shattered mind.  It scared me a little to realize that I had dragged myself down so deep.  Like Keaton, I had my own demons inside me; Keaton’s demon wanted pain but my demon, my beast, reveled in control.  Total control.

Neither Zielinski or Sam had run.  Zielinski reeked of curiosity; the bastard sat with a legal pad in his lap, with five pages folded over.  He had taken notes about my Raindorf games.  Sam had made some sort of decision, now far less terrified than before.

Both had shucked their bonds and washed up.  Subtle challenges, yes, but the fact they remained here satisfied my urge to control them.  Neither made any show of pride at their removal.  They knew how to deal with Arms.

I came into the living room with a tray of sandwiches, a glass of iced tea, and a towel over my shoulder.  I set the tray and drink down on the coffee table, sat, and toweled off my hair.  Zielinski watched me silently from an elegant faux-antique Queen Anne chair he had appropriated on his own.  Sam tapped his fingers on the identical chair on which he perched.  He had something to say.

“Out with it,” I said, to Sam.

“You have blundered your way into a delicate situation, ma’am,” Sam said.  “The Doc is yours, he says and you say.  Fine.  I will cede his protection to you, if that’s what you want.  On the other hand, I am not yours, but belong to someone else, someone you should remember.  Focus Rizzari.”

I vaguely remembered Rizzari’s Transforms being quite well trained.  I hadn’t realized they had nerves of steel.  “I want payment from her for rescuing you, but I don’t want to start a war with her by accidentally making her think I kidnapped you.”

“It would be best if you just let me go,” Sam said.

I laughed.  “You were in on my rescue.  You dealt with Keaton in a worse situation than this.  Deal.”  That’s how he knew how to deal with Arms.  Slowly but surely, despite my two prize catches’ ability to hide their true thoughts from me, I was learning enough about them for my instincts to use them for a little brainpower.