A Tempest In The Night Part 18

She was on fire from his deep barrel voice, touch, his eyes, and his challenging language. For an intimidating man he had pretty eyes-disarming eyes. They made you want to stare at them for hours. She moved away from the window after watching the gravel shoot out from under his tires. Something in her soul wanted to shout out to him, make him stay. She had the unmistakable feeling he'd wanted to get away from her. Okay, focus on work, Ilida.

Do focus on work.

Daedalus? Daedalus? You can't do this. Don't make me use my powers like this.

You have to learn or someone could take advantage.

Like you are now? She couldn't.

I can break through your meager defenses, obviously. Help Mike and we'll speak again.

His sadness overwhelmed her, but he wasn't the one to feel sorry for. He was dignified and tough. He would get through it. She didn't think she would. She sat on the edge of the windowsill. The strangest thing of all was she could still feel him around her, in her. It would wear off. It had to. The sound of knocking startled her.

Not again, she inwardly groaned. It was Thom her supervisor. "Come in, Thom." She had to put on her pleasant face and pretend she didn't know why he was in her office.

"How do you do that?"

"Do what?"

"Know who's behind your door. The gla.s.s window is frosted."

I can read thoughts. She wasn't about to tell him that. Thom was too normal. "I can make out the silhouette."

He shook his head, satisfied with her explanation. It wasn't a stretch. She was pretty good at differentiating the silhouettes behind her door. She sat down behind her desk wanting to pretend she was busy so Thom would leave.

"How did it go?"

"Went fine." Ilida pressed b.u.t.ton, and then her computer screen lit up again displaying bats flying over a dusky sky. "Mr. Sqourakis is satisfied and thanks to you he feels Mike is in good hands. I'll check on him in a few minutes."

"Good. Don't forget I want two reports by the end of the week."

"Okay, Thom."

That is standard procedure to give your supervisor reports by the end of the week. What is his problem?

"You know him?"

"Um, Sqourakis? Not personally."

"He seemed into you."

He was into s.e.x with her nothing more than that though she wished otherwise. Thom was being unduly concerned. It made her uncomfortable. In a hushed voice she said, "We've been over for months now, Thom."

"And that's my fault. I know."

"Not your fault. You and your wife separated. I had problems with my boyfriend at the time. We took comfort in each other. It was a one-night thing. I'm okay." She was more than okay. Daedalus obliterated thoughts of other men from her mind, permanently.

"I-Look you can't turn feelings on and off."

"It wasn't meant to be, Thom."

Just watch yourself around Sqourakis. I've heard of his reputation with women."

"Thanks for the heads up."

"Sure," he said, as he closed her office door.

Ilida breathed in and out relaxing her shoulders and sweeping the meeting with Daedalus and her twenty-twenty with Thom. What a weird morning. With her mouse she clicked the sleep command on the computer. Her Batman screensaver came on. She swiveled her chair around and stared out the window.

This was real. This is what she desired. Working and taking care of people made her happy. Incredible s.e.x was the least she could ask for out of life. The love thing wasn't working out.

Being with Daedalus made her remember she was different and would never truly be normal. She would give anything to not be privy to others' thoughts. Daedalus was so adept at controlling his powers. How did he do it? What was his secret? She should take him up on his offer: Over-the-top s.e.x with him and reminders that she's different, and so is he. No s.e.x with him and keep grappling for normalcy. Decisions, decisions.

He dated models. She wasn't a model. Standing at five-foot five and a half inches, shapely with hair that refused taming, full lips and apple shaped face kept her out of the magazines. She smiled to herself.

She got up, walked out of her office. Tilly occupied three floors of a Victorian home. The recreational therapists' offices occupied the first floor. The detox rooms occupied the second floor and residence rooms where on the top floor. On the first floor all the indoor activities were done in the huge dining hall.

Mike took first priority for the moment. She walked up to the second floor and peeked in on Mike. He rested comfortably with his arms restrained. She grimaced at seeing him tied down. It was necessary in case he became violent. All patients, when in detox, needed restraining, but in her mind it was still draconian.

Lunchtime was underway and she had to report to her nosey friends and co-workers about Daedalus. He was the last person she wanted to talk about.

Chapter Eleven

Terra paced back and forth. The sound of her heels clicking echoed in the small industrial-like room. "I know. I sensed another presence outside the club."

"It was probably nothing, Terra."

"No, it was. He sent someone to warn her. I bet you that's what it was, Hermes."

"Shall we find this person?"

"We shall send a drone."

"Another one? We already have ours in the field."

"Someone who can hide in plain sight to follow him."

"That is next to impossible. He sensed we were in his lair. I almost lost my arm remember?"

"Then we use what we have." She caressed his face with the back of her hand. "Pay Mike another visit, my love."

"Do you want me to turn him?"

"Not yet. Make sure he gets names and places. If he did send a person to warn her I want to know who this person is."

"It's as good as done."

"In the meantime, we send the goods out to Brooklyn now."

"What part?"

"Park Slope and Downtown Brooklyn."

The next morning, Ilida approached the detox floor. Mike was in one of the rooms, heavily sedated with morphine while drugs purged his system. She knocked hesitantly. Sally, the detox nurse, told her to come in.

Upon opening the door, Ilida ran to Sally and the flailing Mike.

"I thought he was sedated?"

"He is-was. He woke up screaming."

"Screaming what?"

"The sun."

Ilida looked around at the windows. Light streamed in, warming up the sterile-looking room. She quickly went around the room pulling down all the shades.

Mike quieted and went back to a peaceful sleep.

Later that night, Ilida curled up on the couch with her arm extended flipping the channels. She came upon the news report and lowered her arm...

"Frightening reports have come in form Precincts in and around New York City. A new drug is making its rounds through the streets of Brooklyn and Lower Manhattan, called Red Queen..."

"Beverly? Come here. You have to hear this."

Her roommate rushed out into the living room.

"What's goi-"

"Shush! Listen."

"...Detox centers have reported the drug is highly addictive and it causes near mania in some addicts. There have been some reports that the drug gives the user near super human strength and a bizarre thirst for blood..."

"That's gross," Beverly said, plopping down on the sofa next to her.

It was gross and the news report sent a chill down her back.

"Sisterfriend? We deal with this every day."

Ilida swung her legs down. "You know the new patient that came in yesterday?"

"His guardian is that rich man. I remember."

"I checked on him this morning."

"Okay?"

She scratched her head wondering how to say what was on her mind without sounding like a lunatic. "This will sound ridiculous."

"As ridiculous as addicts craving blood sounded?"

"Okay, well Mike was on morphine."

"I know, Detox. And?"

"With the doses you give patients when they go into detox they shouldn't be able to struggle with a two hundred pound former wrestler." With raised eyebrows, she locked eyes with Beverly.

"Hold up! Mike struggled with Sally?"

"He wanted the shades drawn. So I pulled them down," she stated as she made a pulling motion with her fist.

"Then what?"

"Then nothing. He stopped struggling with Sally then he went back to sleep."

Chapter Twelve

Three nights later, Ilida parked her brick-red, late- model mini van on the corner of Seventh Avenue and Berkley Place in front of a church. She'd driven around in circles looking for a parking s.p.a.ce but found none. So, parking four blocks away from her walkup apartment was the best she could do.

It was a surreal night in Park Slope, she found. Seventh and Union on the east side was blocked off by orange cones. Tractors dug up tar to get to the drainage pipe. It had been peaceful that morning-not much action, but now...

To top it off, a short man wearing white shirt jeans and a leather vest complete with fringe strode past her playing a lute. A man sporting shoulder length, brown dreadlocks and wearing an orange vest, with an iridescent white stripe running across the middle, stood in the center of the street directing traffic while he chatted up a blond-haired woman. A boy, biking across the street, cut Ilida off as she tried to cross. He slid into home base; a loaded garbage can.