Splintered Energy (The Colors Book 1) (17 page)

Stomach twisted in knots, she fought terrified squeaks passing her lips instead of words. “I don’t know. Did-did you rip the man’s head off?”

“Jaylynn want him dead? Okay. Fun. Damon go back.” He scowled at Caream. “No more Damon hurt. No more Jaylynn afraid. Jaylynn teach home.”

Jaylynn swallowed hard. “Damon, listen. You mustn’t kill anyone. Where is your home?”

“Are you always stupid?” His jaw clenched. “Said don’t know. That’s why Damon ask you.”

Not only was she ignorant, she didn’t have a clue how he’d react, and her next question could well be her last. “Sorry. I don’t know either. Damon? Did you start another fire at the cabin where you took me?”

This time it wasn’t fear catching her breath as his grin snaked across his face. “Yes. Jaylynn gave Damon fire. Beautiful. Damon gave Caream fire.” His volatile excitement disappeared. “Fire killed cabin. Twenty-three men coming. Damon found Jaylynn. Damon won’t move wrong colors like dead cabin.”

Coiled tight beside her, his low voice softened. A sign of impending doom, and Jaylynn held so hard to the wheel her fingers ached.

“Color can’t take Damon. Damon is
Demon
.” He rubbed his head, and his lip pushed out. “Jaylynn, shut up with afraid. Teach drive. Damon run faster than Jaylynn drives. Damon wants out of light.”

“No, Damon break car.” Caream hopped over the seat and settled between them. Damon growled and knocked her into Jaylynn.

Physical contact with an exotic female hallucination wasn’t bad. The male one slumped against the door. Jaylynn had to stop thinking of him as a demon, maniac, and the sexiest guy in non-existence. What if her mental fantasies could read her mind? Did that make any sense at all?

Jaylynn grabbed a bottle of water from the cup holder and tossed it at him. “You need to trust me. If we go too fast the police will come.”

His lips moved. Was his mumbling audible to Caream? Did he describe what he’d do to the police? To a driver not relinquishing the wheel? Caream punched his arm. Damon bit the top off the plastic bottle, and Caream shook her head with disgust. He poured the water between his lips, over his face, drinking most of it before dumping the remainder into Caream’s mouth.

Almost home with two non-humans somehow connected to each other, Jaylynn felt further and further disconnected from reality.

Things like this just didn’t happen to her.

Chapter Sixteen

In the living room, Evan’s sense of reality wavered as the three-way computer chat closed. A wounded blue alien wanted him out of his house, a yellow psycho strove to kill him, green was on the way, and Malcolm wanted to find orange. This colorful adventure would be beyond cool, if Evan wasn’t scared out of his mind.

He didn’t know anything about fixing injured humans, let alone man-angels. This Aaron guy was hours away. California, across the goddamn country. Any friend Evan had would be so blown away by a naked, golden lady they’d be a liability. Exactly like Malcolm thought Evan was. His mom would insist on the police. Screw his dad. He’d assume Evan was stoned.

Aaron had suggested water and ice, but Evan was afraid to leave Malcolm. There wasn’t even an ice tray in the freezer. He closed the refrigerator door and noted its ivory surface. At the very least, he could do better than a white gauze barrier between blue and the yellow hell-bitch.

In the laundry room, a shiny, white cabinet held utility supplies. Evan jammed the items into the cupboard beside it. Pain shot through his chest as he lifted and dragged the awkward thing, praying it’d protect him if that frickin’ door opened.

His luck held. The laser eyes that locked on him were the sane ones. Evan settled the cabinet on top of the gauze in front of the door, squeezed around, and called down the hall into the blue glare. “I’ve left the gun with you. I’ll be back in ten.”

Malcolm shook his head and mouthed, “Go home.” He looked terribly injured, like he stood by sheer willpower. The scratches on his face still oozed, and both arms appeared useless.

Evan turned and ran for ice.

* * *

Malcolm picked up the electrical device he’d made, and rated his survival odds below twelve percent. He would have liked the opportunity to meet Jade, and he feared for her once he was dead. If she’d echoed with such apprehension talking to him, how could she handle a homicidal yellow? There’d be no joint effort after Jane Doe grabbed him again.

He mentally played out the likely scenario. She’d hasten his demise by skin removal, fingernails slashing his throat, eyes gouged, and so forth. Yet, it stood to reason while his epidermal layer was raked off, he could make his broken fingers free the taser from his hip pocket and bend his shattered arm to trigger it against her.

That left the sixty-two percent she’d understand more vulnerable areas, and her aim would be below his waist. She’d incapacitate him and destroy the gun before he could remove it from his pocket. He had to hide the weapon. Held visible in his hand, yellow would never let him closer than the killing range of her foot.

Which lead to the question of why he didn’t go for the twenty-two percent odds a proper weapon would reach her before she dodged? Or a current rigged to a container of water to confuse her?

The ultimate would be a weapon that zapped without needing connecting probes. A wireless, long-range electroshock projectile, fired from perhaps a shotgun. If one had a twelve-gauge, and a chance to rig it, it’d be a viable option. There were endless what ifs, but the mitigating factor was thanks to yet another opponent. No
time
to arrange a best-case scenario. His “help” was doing something surely unnecessary and would return at any moment.

Malcolm had a serious handicap. Suicide dominated his thought process and hindered his cognitive abilities. He’d off himself without pause, if he only had Malcolm James to consider. Damn his servant, the many vulnerable police, and the others.

Yesterday’s news filled him with dread. A red-haired man had stormed the Arizona Medical Center, removed a patient, attacked guards, and survived a fourth floor jump.

A hack into the Tucson police system discovered more chaos. 911 calls to a Desert Oasis Motel, owner treated for broken bones, concussion, an unregistered, recently fired rifle at the scene. At the same motel, another uncooperative male with a broken arm claimed a red man and an orange painted prostitute had stolen his motorcycle. In Phoenix, the closest large city to Tucson, forty-six calls reported a motorcycle traveling at an extreme speed earlier this morning.

A current report concerned a fire that threatened to set the mountains ablaze near a town called Pine. Helicopter pilots spotted a man and probable woman at the scene, resulting in a statewide bulletin—top of Arizona’s most wanted.

Malcolm had retrieved Yellow from the morgue, but removal from police custody would be a formidable, yet irrelevant worry. Neither Red nor Orange would allow a human to take them.

Red. Surely, the strongest being in existence. Malcolm hadn’t discovered any connected fatalities, a positive indicator Red had—yet—to become a ruthless, killing machine.

The approach of Evan’s footsteps toward the house added to Malcolm’s prediction he had but minutes left in this nightmare. Evan could find in the computer everything Malcolm knew, including no solution of how to contact the ones destroying Arizona. With hope the youth survived, the laptop also contained a living will leaving James’ assets to Evan.

Malcolm had to move that cabinet, but Jane Doe’s pacing stopped, and he worried he’d delayed twenty-eight seconds too long. She’d stepped simultaneously with him, and was now eighteen feet closer to the kitchen area than he was. Would his pathetic need for an extra half minute of life would cost Evan his? The gasp of rage after her door opened burned through Malcolm’s fear.

“I’ll remove the cabinet,” he said. “Talk with me. You must listen. Please!”

* * *

Four bags of ice clattered from Evan’s arms onto the counter as he listened. That loud clunk would be the cabinet falling over. Turning his fear crashed, a tsunami flooding from his brain to his toes. A flickering yellow/green gaze locked on him. Still beautiful, still undressed, Jane Doe…Jane moved in a blur.

Evan managed to scream as she body-slammed him to the floor.

She lifted him to his feet like an inflated plastic dummy, twisted then chopped him in the back of his knees. Evan fell forward, and the monster flung her arm around his neck. Held in a chokehold, his weight supported by Jane. Eight inches taller than her and at least sixty pounds heavier—didn’t matter. Her grip on his throat, around his stomach, caught him so firm he couldn’t breathe, let alone move.

Taser in hand, Malcolm materialized in front of them. His eyes had frosted with rage. “Release him. He’s an innocent. With my help, maybe, you can return.”

To Evan’s relief, Jane shifted her hand from his neck. Her sharp poke in his side caused him to grunt in agony. It felt like bruised ribs cracked, and he sagged in her arms. It hurt, a stabbing ache, and that yellow hand tightened again on his windpipe.

Evan wanted, he needed, one gasp of air. Too much to ask? A chance to say he knew Malcolm tried to save him? Blackness framed his vision.
Oh please! Let me stand
. His legs buckled. Evan collapsed against her, and finally, Jane loosened her grip. He drew a panicked gulp. Jane’s flat voice, speaking for the first time, halted Evan’s sob of sorry to Malcolm.

“You’ll regret what you’ve done. You can’t touch me with that weapon before I break its neck. Tell me everything. I’ll continue to hurt this pitiful, lightless thing. If you don’t cooperate, it dies.” Jane grabbed Evan’s hand, and snapped his little finger like it was a twig.

He wanted to be brave but couldn’t swallow back his yelp. Oh it hurt, and he didn’t want to die. Not like this!

The taser tumbled from Malcolm’s fingers. He shuddered and fell to his knees, head bowed.

Jane held Evan’s broken hand. He shook with rage, crested on waves of pain, as her sweet breath kissed his ear.

“Explain, Malcolm, while I see how loud it can scream.” Jane crushed Evan’s index finger. Her fist rammed into his back, she knocked him down, and forced his face into the floor. Evan felt her weight move off him. One foot wedged into his side for leverage, she lifted her other.

Flattened worse than a bug—
but screw her
, Evan wouldn’t cry. A flash of blue stopped Jane’s heel from ramming him through the floor. Malcolm jerked her upward, flinging her away from them as Evan scrambled aside. She fell backward only to rebound back up. Malcolm threw himself at her.

She smacked the floor beneath Malcolm, but she wrapped her arms around him. She’d crush him if Evan didn’t do something. He’d never felt such incredible strength, and he’d be dammed if he couldn’t help in time. Broken back, ribs, fingers—who cared? Where, oh where was it? God, finally.

Malcolm pinned Jane’s shoulders, her legs jerking under him, but Evan could easily imagine Malcolm’s ribs cracking further. And now Jane raised her head to bite.

Jane fastened her mouth on Malcolm’s while Evan activated the taser. Over Malcolm’s shoulder, he zapped the first spot of yellow he could reach. Jane turned white. Her head thumped linoleum and Malcolm, no longer blue, collapsed over her.

The taser slipped from Evan’s numbed fingers. He sobbed and rolled Malcolm free. Jane’s eyes had faded to brown, her snarl gone. His eyes closed, Malcolm’s drawn face had lost its color. The jagged cut on his lip dripped a greenish-blue blood.

“Malcolm, please, please.” Evan cradled Malcolm’s head in his lap. Jane wasn’t breathing, and the glazed look whispered of death. Malcolm wasn’t breathing either, but he’d told Evan he didn’t need to and his skin felt warm, almost hot.

Evan looked around. Nothing to use as a compress. He pulled off his shirt, gasping with the piercing ache. He pressed the wadded cotton over Malcolm’s lips.

Minutes passed, and the fluid bleeding from Malcolm’s mouth appeared to stop as long as Evan kept the pressure on. Again, Malcolm had saved him. Everything Evan did went wrong, and this sequence of events seemed to be unsalvageable. Injured in a stranger’s house with two non-humans, both dead, and now electricity jabbered into his thigh…um, that’d be his cell phone.
Idiot. Use your good hand
.

His ribs screamed, but he kept the cloth pressed to Malcolm’s mouth. The number was unfamiliar. Evan’s dull hello croaked out.

“Evan? It’s Aaron. What’s wrong? Are you hurt?”

“I’ll live…but I think…Malcolm’s dead! I killed her and he died, too. Aaron, I don’t know what to do. Where are you? Malcolm can’t be dead. He just can’t be.”

“Calm down. How do you know he’s dead?”

The roar of the plane made it difficult to hear and grief made it hard to talk. If Evan didn’t say the dead-word out loud again, maybe his man-angel would open those eyes and yell at him to go home.

He drew a shallow breath. “Jane attacked me. Malcolm stopped her. She bit his lip open and crushed him. I stunned her with the taser Malcolm made. She’s white now. Malcolm isn’t blue. I got my shirt over his mouth to stop stuff dripping. He-he’s not breathing. He never not breathed before, except under water.”

“Jade doesn’t need to surface for air either. I’m guessing they’re some sort of sentient light energy. An electrical charge could have knocked them out. It doesn’t necessarily mean they’re dead. You sure you’re okay?”

“Fine! Not the one killed, am I? I went for ice like you said, but I got him murdered.”

“This isn’t your fault. I’m calling someone to help you. We’re hours away, and I don’t believe you when you say you’re
fine
.”

“No. No. No.” Evan grunted back the pain and hardened his voice. “Malcolm said if they took him back to a hospital, he’d kill himself. Kept yelling I should leave. If I’d listened, he wouldn’t have died. I have to start doing what he says. I-I’ll put him in the bathtub with ice. You got to believe I don’t need help—Malcolm does.”

“Bandage him up then call me back. We’ll figure it out, promise.”

Oh God, yes. Such concerned authority in the older man’s voice, and Evan choked out his goodbye.

He held the shirt with his broken hand over Malcolm’s mouth, and began dragging the body down the oak floor. In the hallway, the damn cabinet blocked his path. He rested Malcolm’s head on the floor and peeked under the makeshift bandage. Finally, something maybe good. No greenish-blue liquid.

Rage inspired adrenalin kicked in. Evan threw the cabinet over into the room he’d painted to please a golden monster and stumbled back.

Goddamn it. The leaking from Malcolm’s mouth had started again. He picked Malcolm up while corny song lyrics—his mom’s era—strummed through his head.
He’s not heavy he’s my man-angel?
Evan should smack himself in the skull. Add to the pain. If only he hadn’t told a psycho killer that Malcolm had the taser. Perfect, just perfect. Create a hostage situation that resulted in the death of the coolest super-being imaginable.

Evan settled Malcolm in the cobalt water and propped his head against the tub’s edge. Guilt being a powerful motivator, he didn’t care how much it hurt to function. Gauze in hand, he returned and soaked it blue, and found scissors in the drawer. He clumsily cut his shirt into strips and used the gauze to bind it around Malcolm’s head. He emptied the bags of ice from the truck onto Malcolm. The black blanket cushioned Malcolm’s head, and Evan didn’t know what else to do.

His teeth chattered. A dark shirt hung in the closet. His hands shook, his left one throbbed intensely, and his fingers wouldn’t button. The vibrating cell interrupted his tears.