Deena Riordan: Indelible Ink Part 13

"We just changed alt.i.tude by twenty feet or so," the pilot yelled. "Not a big deal."

"How the h.e.l.l does this generic agency not have a private jet? What kind of budget do they have that we have to fly in this sad excuse for transportation?" Garrett checked his seat belt one more time.

Pel put her tablet away and leaned over. She talked louder over the rattle of the plane's engine. "Where do you want to go first when we land?"

When we land. Garrett liked the sound of the words. "I think we should probably get a ride to the crime scene. I don't know how long they'll keep the train there on the tracks."

"They'll take it to the nearest train yard and we can look at it later. I'd imagine the coroner will need to take possession of the dead guys, though."

"Yeah. But if they don't have Deena's body on the train, it likely means she's on the move. Maybe we can find some idea which direction she went. Right now, she could've gone anywhere. And she's got a good head start." Garrett looked at his watch. "How long 'til we land?"

"No idea." Pel tapped the pilot on the shoulder. "How much longer?"

The pilot scanned the control panel and turned around. "If we don't hit any turbulence or anything, maybe an hour and fifteen minutes, maybe an hour and twenty."

"Turn around," Garrett said to the pilot. "Just turn around and fly." He looked at Pel again. "Don't bother him. He needs to fly this plane."

"What a baby."

"Just hand me Deena's file. And let's go over it again. Maybe we can find someplace logical for her to run to."

33.

Her greatest joy in life used to be making fun of stupid people doing stupid things, and here she was, in a yoga cla.s.s while the better part of the criminal underground searched for her.

Deena crossed her legs and stared off at the wall. She tried to make her mind a blank slate, tried to clear the thoughts that surfaced every time she needed to control her power. The Shadow Energy began to spread across her arm whenever Harper or Avi pushed their way into her thoughts. But it wasn't working, she tried to picture beautiful meadows and sunlight rippling off serene ponds, the mountains in the background, but all she could see were the black streaks lurking in the weeds and the strange dark currents just underneath, however light, seemed to be growing louder.

She regretted breaking her cover and stepping into the community as soon as she'd done it. She figured there would be some way to calm herself here in the little train stop town of Chemult, Oregon, but there wasn't much. On the corner stood an old-school coffee shop with red plastic booths and a mini jukebox at every table. The kind that served actual coffee with cream and sugar; exactly what she didn't need right now. But the coffee called to her, the way it always did-mocha, dark roasted, whatever. It was all good.

Chemult had a tiny police station that she avoided even though she didn't see any police cars out front; she supposed that every member of law enforcement this close to the train incident would probably be helping in one way or another. Scattered amidst the closed storefronts with newspapers taped to the windows were the town garage/gas station combo, some fast food places, jewelry store, coffee shops and the Paul White community center. She wandered into the community center just in time for a half-empty yoga relaxation cla.s.s. No one said much to her, though they looked her over real good when she sat down. The instructor just smiled, introduced herself and got to business.

Deena opened her eyes and found her hands were balled into fists and turning black as the darkness migrated down her arms. She needed to release. She stood up quickly and grabbed her bag as she left the room. She saw a couple of the other women's eyes snap open to watch her retreat.

In the hall, she slung the bag over her shoulder and folded her arms so no one would see her hands. She quickly moved toward the exit, wondering what her next move should be. There was no way she could get back on a train, and she doubted the little town had a car rental place she could hit up.

"Hey, was it something I said?" the instructor whispered from the doorway of the cla.s.sroom.

"Oh, no. Thanks. I was just having trouble focusing," Deena tried to keep walking, but the instructor advanced as she spoke, trying to engage Deena.

"Everyone has a little trouble the first time. You just have to work through it."

The stairs made Deena stumble and she put out her arm to steady herself. She was relieved to see the hand wasn't darkened nearly as bad as it had been. She hoped the woman wouldn't notice. "Look, Taylor was it? I'm just not in a frame of mind to relax now. I'm..."

"Anxious about something? It shows," Taylor said. She looked around the empty hall like she had a secret. "Look, I don't usually mix relaxation cla.s.ses with the others I teach, but come here for a second." She nodded her head for Deena to come back.

Deena's lip twitched. She wanted to leave before something bad happened. "I have to get going."

"Look, I'll show you what I'm thinking. I have a place where you can take your time getting into a better state of mind, all by yourself. I have to get back to my cla.s.s. I'll leave you alone, you can stay, you can go. Whatever," Taylor shrugged her shoulders.

Deena looked down at her feet. One was on the first stair. The other was on the second. She could say no and keep going. But she could feel an outburst building within. "OK. Two minutes." She stepped down and walked back to follow Taylor.

"I, uh," Taylor looked at the door to the cla.s.sroom they'd just come from. "I also teach a kickboxing and self-defense cla.s.s at night. Some of my yoga students get all weird about that for some reason." She smiled wickedly. "A girl can't be peaceful and kick some a.s.s? Come on."

Deena smiled weakly. She had the a.s.s-kicking thing down. A peaceful mind and body would be a nice addition.

At the other end of the hall, Taylor opened a door and leaned in to flip on the light. "This is the practice room. Most of the ones I've seen other places have some padding on the floor and mirrors all the way around," she stepped in and waved her hands around. "Never understood that. People need to see themselves in the mirror to make sure they're in the proper stance, suppose. Seems unnecessary to me. Mirrors break. I'd rather have it like this and be able to crash into walls and stuff."

The entire room was padded from floor to ceiling with light blue practice mats; not so soft that you couldn't walk on them, but soft enough that you wouldn't break a shoulder if you were thrown into a wall. In one corner was a boxer's heavy bag hanging from the ceiling and in the other, a speed bag.

"Plus, with all the padding, the room is pretty darn soundproof," Taylor stepped past Deena and started down the hall again. "If you decide to stay, have fun."

Deena couldn't stop staring at the room. A workout wasn't exactly what she needed, but it gave her a place to lay low and figure things out for a little while. She was sure people would be looking for her so she didn't really have time to pause for long. She worried she might destroy the place if things got out of hand though. "Look, I don't know..."

"Whatever you want to do, do it." The instructor's blonde ponytail bounced as she disappeared back into the cla.s.sroom.

She needed rest and she need to get ahold of herself but she could almost smell the people that were tracking her at this point. Police. Feds. Marsh's goons. Still, she was no good if she kept lashing out with tendrils of magic constantly. Deena decided to take some time to get a grip and she let the door swing shut behind her as she stepped into the room.

Deena paced like some zoo animal for the first ten minutes or more. She went from one corner to the next, to the next, without a coherent thought. Images flashed in her head. She saw Avi and Harper, Marsh, Morgan and Ramirez, and then the parade of victims that died at her hands. It was a loop that started again, once she'd exhausted the list. After the first ten minutes, she added a punch at the speed bag and a kick to the body bag as she pa.s.sed each of them. Soon the pacing became quicker as she went back and forth and the anger built in her. It became two punches on the speed bag, and a kick plus and elbow on the body bag, until it accelerated to the point where she was just going from one bag to the other and not even walking the room.

She feared that she was sliding back to what she was: some sort of zombie following orders without question and killing on demand without remorse. When she'd killed Mike, it was out of a fury she couldn't control, but she still felt something afterward, she'd been aware of what she'd done and known it was horrible. But the next time she took a life, when her power first revealed itself, had seemed like nothing. It faded from her memory almost immediately. The man on the plane? She would've forgotten about him already if he hadn't been the catalyst for this change.

But what made her what she was? Was it Marsh? The first time her power came out, he was there. Did he do something? Was it the power itself that somehow made her blindly follow him?

As she settled in to punching the heavy bag, obsidian spikes poked from her knuckles and she tore into the bag with punch after punch, blow after blow. The thick canvas sh.e.l.l gave way quickly. Long, vertical rips in sets of four showed up with each swipe and sawdust began to fill the room like flurries in a mild winter storm. Deena could smell the oaky aroma of the chips flying as they pa.s.sed close to her face. She ignored it. She ignored everything and struck out blindly releasing the anger and the fear that had built up. She didn't care if the Shadow Energy drained her again; she'd revert to a baby and work her way back to her twenties, kicking and punching the whole way. No one would expect a baby to rescue Harper, would they? She leapt at the bag and cut it in half with a sharp edge that had grown out of the side of her foot.

34.

Deena at 17 the first time around Being a waitress was h.e.l.l for Deena: the long hours, the dull tasks, the jerks that didn't tip, the a.s.sholes that got handsy when she walked by. The smell of the strange combinations of foods would make her nauseous from time to time. The Nimbus Lounge wasn't a dive per se; Marsh kept it up and kept it respectable, but he didn't exactly pour money into it. He made it acceptable to a decent crowd and left it at that. No high aspirations, which meant no big tippers, ever.

Harper, however, loved it, or so it seemed to Deena. Harper seemed sure that they were always a day away from selling their bodies on the street, so working tables for the lecherous manager seemed like a welcome relief in comparison. Harper took their tips and squirreled them away, doing what she could to make the money last. It gave her something to occupy her time when she wasn't working. She bought groceries with coupons from the newspapers she got free at work when diners left them. Deena couldn't be bothered with it. She went to work, did her job and went home. If it weren't for Harper, the lights in their apartment wouldn't have stayed on.

True to his word, Marsh set the sisters up in a studio apartment a block away from the Nimbus. It was all as it was advertised-one room with two beds, a stove, a small television set that worked most of the time. The bathroom included a shower, at least. That was a treat. The temperature of the water couldn't be predicted from day to day, however.

They managed to get into somewhat of a routine after they'd been there for a little over six months. The cycle of work, home, eat, sleep was becoming ingrained, interrupted by frequent trips to a nearby gym that Marsh owned. Deena needed to vent aggression some way, and the gym worked perfectly. There certainly wasn't room to exercise in their little apartment, not even s.p.a.ce for sit-ups without knocking into something. So Deena went. It got her out and, usually, got her away from Harper. There was something to be said for the healing power of not being near her sister. They saw each other at work, at home, everywhere. And it reminded Deena of their situation and how they'd landed there. Deena looked back at that day in the forest with Marsh and had a hard time believing she'd readily agreed to, even pursued the possibility of working for Marsh in any capacity. She chose to dwell on that when she was working out, not the fact that she herself had killed someone. Or was it two someones? The incident got cloudier the more time that pa.s.sed. While she was. .h.i.tting a heavy bag, Marsh's spectacled face appeared before her, his old man cologne filled her nostrils. She hadn't seen him since the incident and yet, somehow he was still fresh in her mind.

Occasionally, Harper joined her at the gym. It was a dirty, filthy old place where boxers and fighters went to work out, it wasn't a trendy place where people wore their yoga pants and went to feel the burn. Certainly not somewhere in Harper's comfort zone. At least not her former comfort zone. Deena was impressed with how her sister let things go now that their situation was dire. Harper had opened to new, cheaper, foods that she'd never have bothered with back home. The time on the run probably got her started.

When Harper came to the gym, Deena worked out on the other side of the building.

On a Tuesday night, Deena and Harper were working at the Nimbus with Ron, the manager, Troy, the "head chef" and another waitresses, and Amanda. It was close to quitting time, and Harper was helping Ron with the day's receipts. They sat at a table in the middle of the dining room while everyone else cleaned up. The nightly ritual was usually just an excuse for Ron to look down Deena's blouse or attempt to back her into a corner for a pat on the a.s.s. She was getting more adept at avoiding that, much to Ron's chagrin. Harper's newfound skill at taking care of the bills and stretching a dollar made her more likely to volunteer to help with the daily tally, allowing Deena to slip from Ron's gaze nightly.

"You girls going anywhere tonight?" Ron asked, thick fingers stabbing at the calculator in front of him. Though he was sitting with Harper, he raised his voice for Deena to hear.

Deena knew it was another lame attempt to get her to go out with him. She pretended not to hear him and kept wiping down the tables.

Harper took the bait, though. "Yeah. Home."

"Come on, you girls are no fun. Christ. Live a little." Ron puffed blue cigarette smoke out of his mouth absently. It drifted up and joined the usual cloud that gathered near the ceiling.

"You want us to loosen up and experience life? With you?" Deena laughed. "Where are you headed? Some old dude club or something?" Ron wasn't that old, really. He was just old enough for Deena to be creeped out by him.

"I know some places that you'd enjoy."

"I'm sure you do. Like your place, for instance?" Deena asked.

Harper continued to count, making tics on a piece of paper for each stack of bills she set aside.

Ron smirked and poked at the calculator as he leafed through the tabs.

From out in the lobby area, the bell that rang when the front door opened tinkled repeatedly.

The clock on the wall read 11:56. Four minutes to closing time.

"Someone's cutting it close for their late-night slice of pie," Ron said.

"Want me to go?" Deena asked, hoping for a reprieve from the stench formed from the cloud of smoke, meatloaf and Ron's odor of sweat and what she referred to as his Chuck Norris cologne.

"Please, your sister and Amanda can get rid of them. They may be useless otherwise, but they know how to drive off customers."

Harper gave him disgusted look. "I'm right here. I can hear you."

"So go." Ron took another drag off his cigarette. "Deena, carry the money to the safe with me."

Harper got up and walked toward the lobby with Amanda.

Deena squeezed out a sponge into her bucket and came over to help Ron. She could feel his gaze on her a.s.s as he followed her. She didn't know why her arm started to ache and her back stiffened. She could feel his breath on her neck as he got a little too close when they pa.s.sed into the main office.

In moments there was a series of thuds from the other room and a scream that Deena recognized as her sister's. She moved toward the door but Ron caught her arm before she managed to turn the handle.

"Wait," he said, and as she watched, he walked around his desk and pulled a pistol from the middle drawer on the left. He then quietly walked back around to Deena and let her go ahead and open the door.

In the dining room, Amanda lay sprawled out on the counter, dead. Blood still poured from several wounds in her chest, but her eyes stared blankly, unblinking at Deena.

On the other side of the counter, near the hostess station, four men pointed guns at Harper and Troy, the fry cook. They all looked over as the office door opened and Deena stepped out. She didn't feel Ron emerge with her.

"Hey, look. Here's another one." One of the men pointed his pistol at Deena. "Come on out and join us."

"This is a bad idea," Deena said. "Do you know who owns this place?"

The man smiled. "Yeah. Everyone knows who this dump belongs to. Why do you think we're here?" He motioned toward the cash register and one of the other men pulled a shotgun from under his long coat. He pumped the gun once and fired, blowing the register apart. Harper screamed again. "We're thinking the owner might keep a little extra cash on hand somewhere."

Deena took a step forward and shook her head. "I'm going to say it again. This. Is. A bad idea." She didn't want to look at her arm, it was throbbing, and oddly cold. It was beginning to feel like cement; hard to hold up and thick. She wondered what Ron was going to do. He hadn't exposed himself to the a.s.sailants and was silent in the room behind her.

"Are you going to make us sorry we're here, little girl?" The man with the shotgun said. "Maybe your manager had a gun in the office back there and you've got it tucked in your belt or your frilly ap.r.o.n? Is that it? You gonna shoot us?"

The first man smirked, but looked slightly concerned. "Maybe you should put your hands up, just in case."

Deena did as she was asked, slowly lifting her hands toward the ceiling. Her gaze fell on Amanda's body, lying on the counter and her confidence faded. There was something in her mind that was nudging her to attack the men, but there was another part that told her she would end up just like Amanda; dead on the floor for no reason other than stupid happenstance. OK, she knew she didn't work for Marsh by happenstance, but it didn't seem fair. She looked at her arms and the sides that were facing away from the men had begun to darken with black and blue half-moons like scales. She didn't know if it was a trick of the light, but it seemed something flew over her, blocking out the lights and creating a shadow that drifted across her whole body, then disappeared.

The man with the shotgun walked past the counter and approached Deena with a wary glance. "How about it? What're you hiding? Barretta in the ap.r.o.n? Little one-shot Derringer? Maybe you think you can stick me with a steak knife or something?" As he approached, his coat wafted open and Deena noted a pistol in his waistband. Up close, the shotgun seemed huge and even more frightening than at a distance. It wasn't like an old double-barreled model; it was a huge black weapon that made Deena shiver just a little.

She shook her head no. The scales forming on her arms began to rise up above the skin, creating ridges. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she pictured fish hooks, like the ones she and Harper had used to catch carp in the lake when they were on the run. She tried not to react when those ridges became hard, curved points across the skin. It hurt. Not like the first time she'd had the darkness expose itself. That time in the woods had happened so fast and she'd been so excited with adrenaline that it didn't seem to hurt at all. Now that she had time to see it and think about it, it felt like razors on her arms.

"Hmm..." The man leered at her and checked her up and down as he approached. "You could be hiding all kinds of things in that outfit." His free hand glided across her stomach and lingered there.

Deena suppressed a snarl, keeping her lip from curling up in disgust.

It happened quickly. At least in her own head. It seemed there was little thought about what she was going to do from the moment she walked out into the dining area. Maybe she'd been a.n.a.lyzing the situation from the beginning without knowing it. Whatever it was, there was no time at all between when she decided to punch the man and the time the man was on the floor bleeding from multiple slashes across his face and neck.

With the incident with Mike, it had been something that rose in her until she jumped on him. Her sudden strength had surprised her then. Deena had seen her sister in distress and reacted in a way that came naturally. She hadn't planned that. It just happened. It was the same here, only she was more shocked by her own speed this time. Her body reacted to things in the environment faster than they registered in her mind.

As she watched the man's head hit the floor, she was moving toward the others. Her hands were wet with his blood and his shotgun was in her hand. The men's smirks hadn't left their faces completely before she was upon them. She planted the b.u.t.t of the shotgun in one man's nose, and then swung it like a club, cracking it on another's skull. Her fist raked across both men's faces in quick succession, pulling skin as her jagged knuckles connected. She turned to attack the last man, only to find his pistol just inches from her nose.

"I don't know who the f.u.c.k you are, this is over." His jaw was trembling as his anger rose. The whole thing had happened so fast that Deena was fairly sure he didn't realize his friends were down.

The shot that was fired didn't come from his gun though. Everyone trembled as Ron's .45 fired from the office and he stepped out. The last attacker jerked to the left as the bullet struck him on his right side. He stumbled a few steps and then went down on the floor. He immediately tried to get up but fell back down, moaning. No one else in the room was watching him though; their eyes were on Deena, the dark scales on her arms and hands, and the blood that still dripped from her appendages.

"Ron? Thank you for your help," Deena said. She was sure she could have somehow fought off that last man, but that point was moot now. Still, she was emboldened by how she'd managed to handle the rest of the situation. Everyone staring fed her ego more than she realized. "But don't ever grab my a.s.s again."

"Done." Ron moved back into the office and in seconds, everyone could hear him on the phone. In a shaky voice, he recounted the events of the last few minutes.

Deena looked over at Amanda, and then the men. She antic.i.p.ated some horrible breakdown of emotion, some outpouring of anguish, but it didn't come. Everything that happened seemed like it had happened to someone else in a terrible movie from the seventies or something. She paused to make sure those emotions weren't just taking their time in bubbling to the surface. When they didn't arrive, she walked over to the table she had been cleaning, grabbed the sponge and wiped the blood from her arms, the spikes and scales were gone, leaving just a bold blemish in the shape of a small hook.

35.