The Cure. Part 21

"I never have be-"

The line went dead, cutting Tal off. He stared at the phone for a moment before setting it softly into its cradle. This was one of those a.s.signments where Marsh would brook no failure.

Tal smiled. He had no intention of failing.

Although in a day or so, Marsh would be wishing he had.

Leah nestled in the crook of John's arm, doubly comforted by his warm strength and the gentle feel of his chest rising and falling against her back. The afterglow of their lovemaking had quickly faded in the chilly air of their cell, so they'd dressed and lain down on the blanket, ostensibly to share warmth but, for Leah at least, it was also a desperate desire to hang on to their intimacy for as long as they could. She had no idea when Del's men would come for her, and if she'd ever see John again.

Well, that's not quite true, is it? she reminded herself. You'll see him at least once more. When you have to Cure him.

They'd talked for a while after snuggling up together, generalities and I-love-yous mostly, both of them avoiding any mention of impending death. She'd sensed John wanted to bring up the subject of escape, but each time he'd hinted in that direction-"I wonder where they have the cameras hidden... How many men have you seen in this place?"-she changed the topic, either by kissing him or mumbling sweet nothings against his neck, until he finally got the hint and stopped trying. Shortly after that, she'd rolled over and pulled his arms across her like a blanket, telling him she wanted to get some rest.

Even if the threat of death or slavery hadn't been hanging over her head, Leah doubted she'd have been able to fall asleep. The frigid cement was an inanimate vampire, sucking the warmth from her body, even with the rough blanket folded double beneath them. And despite her long exposure to it, the stench in the air still hit her at odd moments, proving you could never really get used to such an awful smell. Not to mention that lying on the floor with an arm as your only pillow was not exactly comfortable.

An involuntary shiver ran through her, and John's arms tightened in response.

"You awake?" he whispered, his breath rustling her hair so that it tickled her neck, sending another shiver down her back.

"Yes." She bit her lip, feeling a strong premonition of what was coming next. What was it about lying in a dark room that brought on serious conversations you hoped to avoid?

"Tomorrow, when it's time to cure me-"

"John, I don't want to think about-"

"Stop talking and listen. This is important."

She was about to interrupt again when she remembered their earlier conversation about selfishness and her promise not to be that way anymore. As much as it was going to hurt her to hear his words-and she knew what he was going to say-she owed it to him to listen. It was the courteous thing to do.

No, it was the right thing to do.

After a brief pause, he continued, "When it's time, don't cure me. Without me, they have no leverage against you. It's your only chance."

Conflicting emotions raced through Leah at John's words. On the one hand, she felt like laughing at a police officer who could be so nave. On the other, she was shocked that he'd surprised her; she'd been sure he'd come up with some desperate escape plan, like for her to Cure him and then they'd attack the guards. Instead, all he had was a weak idea to sacrifice himself, leaving her alone to face the consequences. Talk about selfish...then it hit her that she'd planned on doing the same thing only a few hours ago.

I guess we're not so different.

She took a deep breath before responding, choosing her words carefully so as not to offend him.

"John, it wouldn't work. Even without you, they have plenty of leverage. They know where my parents live. Or they could just bring in strangers. Do you think I could stand there and let more people die because of me?"

She rolled over to face him in the dim light. His breathing sent sour odors her way, and she knew her breath had to be just as bad-two days of nothing but coffee and junk food, with no toothbrush-but she didn't care. The worst morning breath in the world would still smell better than the air in the building.

"No, I don't think that." His lips turned up slightly. "I guess it was a pretty stupid idea."

"Yeah." She smiled back. "We've had our share of those these past few days, huh?"

"Couple of real idiots, that's us."

"Well, you did have one good idea," Leah said.

"What was that?"

"You asked me out. I was so scared to say yes, but that was the best thing that's happened to me in years."

John's smile grew wider and took on a wicked glint. "Not as good as your idea."

"My idea?" Leah frowned. "For what?"

"This." He leaned forward and placed his lips against hers. At the same time, his hand slipped between them to cup one of her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. Despite her exhaustion and fear, she felt her body respond instantly to his touch.

And after he'd brought her to another screaming climax, she actually managed to fall asleep.

"d.a.m.n," Ken Pollack said to his watch partner, Eddie Spring, "I wouldn't mind getting me some of that."

"Take it easy." Eddie kept his eyes on the monitor, where grainy versions of the two captives had just gotten dressed and lain down again. "If Del even thinks you got ideas about touching her, he'll cut you from ear to ear, and he won't be letting the lady fix you."

"Yeah, I know. Still...hey, are they doin' it again?" Ken leaned closer to the screen.

"Naw. Looks like she's havin' a nightmare." Eddie laughed. "I'd be havin' bad dreams too if my a.s.s was gettin' sold to some A-rabs."

"You think that's who's gonna buy her?" Ken opened a can of soda and took a long drink.

Eddie, a swarthy man with a fat ridge of scar tissue down the side of his neck, nodded. "That's my guess. G.o.dd.a.m.n terrorists got more money than the Colombians or the mob."

"I'll take a piece of that action. Ten bucks says the Colombians. They're always trying to kill each other."

"You're on." Eddie wagged his chin in the direction of the monitor. "This time tomorrow, that cell's gonna seem like paradise."

"This time tomorrow, I'm gonna be whackin' off to a copy of that tape," Ken said, and they both burst into laughter.

On the screen, Leah continued thrashing back and forth on the blanket.

Chapter Seven.

In Leah's dream, Death had her pinned face-first against a gla.s.s wall, his bony fingers gripping her neck and arm, his shoulder pressing against the back of her head, smashing her nose and lips against the gla.s.s. On the other side of the window, dwarfish imps, their bodies bathed in the green aura of sickness, danced around John's naked body, poking him with poisoned sticks. Although no sound reached Leah's ears, she knew he was screaming in pain, could tell by his wide-open mouth and taut neck muscles.

"Stop it!" she shouted, but Death just laughed and squeezed harder. Sharp nails dug into her flesh and she felt blood running down her back.

"They're killing him! I can save him!" She tried to break loose but the skeleton in the black robes was too strong.

"You can't save him this time, Leah," Death said, his ice-cold voice whistling through the bones of his chest and mouth like a winter wind. "Sometimes evil is stronger than good."

"I don't believe that," she whispered, but doubt colored her words, causing Death to laugh harder until he sounded like a freight train racing towards her.

"Do you really want to save him?" Death asked, his teeth clacking together right next to her ear.

"Yes." She tried to nod and her lips smeared the window.

"Would you do anything to keep him alive?" Now the voice was as soft as hers, each word an icy spider scurrying across the nape of her neck.

"Yes." She meant it too, but the admission brought with it a new fear, a fear that she'd just started a journey there was no coming back from.

"Good girl." The pressure against her disappeared. Leah turned around, expecting to see Death gone or retreated.

Instead, she found him less than a foot away, his fleshless mouth somehow grinning madly at her. Before she could do more than gasp, he thrust his hands forward, the bones of his fingers knifing into her chest as easily as sticks into mud. Leah shrieked in pain, each individual stab wound clear and agonizing. The a.s.sault grew worse, Death's wrists and arms following the fingers' lead. Talons pierced her lungs, robbing her of the ability to shout or breathe. Wide-eyed and helpless, she watched as Death pulled himself into her through the gaping hole between her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, his body deforming and twisting so that somehow the grinning skull remained staring at her while the rest of him raped her flesh. Then, with an impossible wink of one empty eye socket, skull and hood slipped inside her.

Only then did she have the breath to scream.

"No!"

Leah sat up, clutching at her chest. Next to her, John rolled over and got to his knees, hands up, ready to defend them. With his hair sticking up in all directions and his eyes wild with fear, he looked like a crazy homeless man.

It was that incongruous vision that calmed Leah more than anything.

"John! It's okay! It was just a bad dream." She placed a hand on his knee. He continued darting his gaze back and forth for another couple of seconds before his eyes narrowed and he looked at her.

"What? Are you... A dream?" His chest rose and fell in rapid motions, and she realized he must have been shocked out of a deep sleep by her shout.

"I'm sorry." Her other hand joined its partner on his leg. "I had a nightmare. I didn't mean to wake you."

"Wake me?" He took a deep breath and managed a tiny smile. "Jesus. You scared the freaking s.h.i.t out of me!"

"Sorry," she repeated, feeling terrible for frightening him.

"It must have been a bad one." He took her hands in his, their warmth a reminder of just how cold she was. He must have noticed, too, because he switched from holding her hands to wrapping his arms around her.

"I've had better," she said, trying to make light of the nightmare. The attempt fell flat and she shook her head. "I dreamt about Death. A real shock, huh? No shrink needed to interpret that one."

John said nothing, just held her tighter, and she appreciated that. Sometimes a person didn't want words or advice or plat.i.tudes when they were upset, just a comforting touch. And one of the things she liked-no, loved-about John was his ability to know when to try and solve a problem, and when to just be there.

"John, I'm scared." She hadn't meant to say it; the words just popped out without warning. Once voiced, though, she felt better. As if admitting the fear was the first step in conquering it.

"I know," John whispered, stroking her hair. His touch was at once relaxing and sensual. "I know. Only a crazy person wouldn't be. But we'll figure something out. They need you alive, which means we'll have the opportunity to escape or call for help, or something. Even if you have to..." His voice trailed off, but Leah had a pretty good idea of what he meant.

Even if I have to use my Power to kill one of them.

The thought of it brought on a sudden anxiety. She didn't think John had any qualms about it; he was probably just being careful not to say too much, in case people were listening. Of course, he wasn't the one who had to consider murdering someone. She'd be the one who'd have to carry that guilt forever.

But why should you feel guilty? It's self-defense, not murder. You've done it before.

She thought about the man she'd killed in McDonald's. It seemed like a lifetime ago, although only a couple of weeks had pa.s.sed. She felt no guilt about that, not anymore. And the man in the warehouse, the one who'd died because he touched her at the wrong time. That wasn't even her fault, she'd been unconscious. And she'd certainly been ready to kill Tal Nova on more than one occasion.

So why the desire to avoid killing now, even if it meant saving her and John's lives? Because it was premeditated?

It's not, though. It's just planning for a possible situation. A situation where if I don't do it we'll be prisoners forever.

The more she considered it, the more it seemed that guilt wasn't the problem. There was something else, something like fear, but colder, that gripped her whenever she thought about killing someone. The kind of fear better a.s.sociated with opening the door to a dark cellar when you didn't know who or what was waiting for you at the bottom of the stairs.

A fear of the dark...

The pieces of the puzzle clicked. The dream. Death, wrapped in darkness, entering her, telling her good can't win.

I'm afraid there's an evil inside me, and killing someone will release it.

But that was stupid, wasn't it? She'd already killed-twice-and nothing happened. She was still the same person. Besides, if using her Power to kill was going to release some kind of supernatural evil, then what about all the animals she'd killed over the years? Why would that be any different? It boiled down to the same thing, after all: remove something bad here, insert something bad there. Take Death from point A and place it in point B.

It was all part of the same Power, the yin and the yang of it.

"G.o.d, I am such an idiot." She didn't realize she'd voiced the thought until John responded.

"What? Why?"

"That priest and those men with him, they convinced me I was evil, that my Power was something bad. That it came from the devil, not G.o.d."

"And I told you not to listen to them, remember?"

"I do. But you were wrong too. It's not a Power from the devil, or from G.o.d. It's not good or bad, it's just a thing. A thing I can do. The good or bad part comes from me. It's no different than any other kind of tool. Think about it. Guns, radiation, lasers, chemicals-they can all be used for good or bad purposes."

"I get it." One of John's eyebrows went up as he stared at her. "So what's this all mean for you?"

Leah shrugged. "That I feel better about myself. Even if someone forces me to do something I don't want to, I'll know I'm not a bad person, just a regular person in a bad situation."

She shook her head and let herself laugh a little. "Too bad my big epiphany doesn't involve any ideas for escape."

"Maybe it will. Maybe this will help you clear your head and-"

The sound of the door being unlocked cut short John's words. They both turned as the door opened, revealing four men holding pistols.

"On your feet," one of the men said. "Time to go."

Leah gripped John's hand.

"I love you," John whispered.

"I love you too."

Then two men pulled her away and led her down the hall. Her last glimpse of John was his back as he was dragged in a different direction.

And then he was gone.