Authors: Francine Pascal
Tags: #Action & Adventure, #Contemporary, #General, #Fantasy, #Suspense, #Fiction
Heat (3 page)
Only the night before, Gaia had gone so far as to tell Mary about what had happened to her mother. It might not sound like a big step, but for Gaia it was huge. Gaia never talked about her mother. Never. Not to anyone.
Talking to Mary had been one of the hardest things she had ever done. Gaia had spent so many years training to fight that taking out some half-stoned mugger barely took an effort. Her father had forced her to study so hard as a kid that high school was more like kindergarten. But telling someone else about her emotions, letting someone in on the things that had happened to her--that was hard.
Now that Gaia had slipped out a little of her past, she felt surprisingly good. Strange, but good. A little bit of themonster-outsider juicehad been drained. A little of the pressure in her head was gone.
The world wasn't perfect, of course. Gaia was still an overmuscled freak. She was still stuck living with her foster parents, the Nivens, and particularly with Superslut Ella.
And of course there was the one least-perfect thing
in Gaia's world. The one that divided possible happiness from undeniable joy.
Sam Moon.
It was probably the best thing that Gaia didn't have Sam. She had only kissed him once. At least, she thought she had kissed him once. Only she had been half dead at the time, and there had been this major blow to her head, and it might possibly have been nothing but a hallucination. Anyway,one maybe kissand Sam had already become this incredible obsession.
Gaia had already spent enough time thinking about Sam to learn a new language or become a piano virtuoso or develop a new theory of relativity. If she actually had him, actually had Sam Moon all to herself, she might short-circuit or blow up or rip his clothes off and--
Yeah,
obsession
was definitely the right word.
Thinking of the no-Sam situation took the edge off Gaia's good mood. He was probably spending his time with Heather.The insidious, ugly, ultimately evil Heather Gannis.
The image of Sam being somewhere with Heather was enough to finally pull Gaia out of her doughnuts-and snow-induced coma. She unfolded her cold legs and slid off the snow-crusted bench. It was very late. If Ella was still awake, she was going to have a fit when Gaia came in.
Gaia didn't care. She leaned back her head and whispered up to the gray clouds, each word emerging in a puff of steam.
"Come on," she said. "For once let's have some real snow."
SAM MOON LEANED BACK INTO THEcab to pay the driver, careful to give a good tip. After all, it was the holiday season. People were supposed to be cheerful and generous.
Moonman
"Thanks for the ride, Mr. Haq," Sam said as he handed over the money.
The cabbie took it from him with a grin. "Thank you so much, Samuel," he said in English so exact, it could have come straight from the pronunciation guide in
Webster's.
A look of concern crossed the man's wide face. "Are you all right, Samuel? I haven't seen you at the tables as much as usual."
Oh, I'm fine. It's just that I'm having sex with one girl while I'm totally obsessed with another.
Sam tried to smile. "Sure, Mr. Haq. As soon as the weather clears up, you'll see me in the park."
"Perhaps we will play a game then?"
Sam nodded. "Absolutely. I'll be looking for you."
"Good! Very good," said Mr. Haq. "I will be quite happy to take even more of your money." He laughed, gave Sam a final wave, and pulled away from the curb.
Sam turned and walked slowly up the steps to the concrete bulk of his dorm at NYU.The trouble with Gaia--the Gaia problem, as he had started to call it--was not exactly the kind of thing he could discuss with Mr. Haq. And it was definitely not the sort of thing he could discuss with his parents. His parents weren't big believers in problems.
There really
isn't
a problem,
he told himself as he came to the door of the dorm.
I'm with Heather, not Gaia. I'm supposed to be happy now.
Sam pushed open the door, stepped inside, and stomped the snow from his shoes.
I've got to stop thinking about Gaia. Gaia Moore is not a part of my life. Enough already.
There was more life in the building than there had been the night before. When Sam had come scrambling back on Christmas night--in the futile hope that Gaia might stop by--the place had been all but empty. Since then a trickle of students had turned up every day. It was still more than a week before classes started up again, but already the dorms were nearly a third full.
Sam yawned as he tromped up the stairs to his
room. It had been a long day. He had called Heather first thing that morning to see if she wanted to get together, but she had said she wasn't feeling well. Considering how much alcohol she had downed the night before, Sam wasn't surprised. With Heather out of action and Gaia out of the picture, Sam had decided to hustle back home and spend a day with his parents. He didn't know if the few hours he had been able to spend at home were worth it, but at least it made him feel a little less guilty for running off on Christmas Day.
It was close to two in the morning, but when Sam walked out onto his floor, there was the familiar thick, sudsy odor of beer in the air and theultrasonic thumpof a subwoofer jolting through the walls. Someone down the hall was having a party. It shouldn't have been a surprise. The period between semesters was nothing if not an excuse to party. But Sam was way too tired to participate.
He fumbled into the quad and opened the door to his dorm room. Inside, he dropped his things, shrugged off his heavy coat, and staggered to his bed.
He wondered where Gaia was at that moment. Which was a stupid thing to wonder. Obviously Gaia would be asleep. Like any normal person would be at this hour. And wasn't he going to stop thinking about Gaia, anyway?
Sam took off his boots and lay back against the
pillow. The bass from the nearby party pounded up through the bed like some huge heartbeat. Despite the cold outside, the room suddenly felt stuffy and hot. Sam peeled off his shirt and lay on top of the sheets. He balled up the pillow and pushed it over his ears. He kept his eyes closed and did his best to think about absolutely nothing.
The sound of the bass beat kept pounding through the bed.
Thump. Thump. Thump.Gaia. Gaia. Gaia.
Heather,
thought Sam.
Not Gaia.
Gaia. Gaia. Gaia.
Heather. I love Heather.
Liar. Liar. Liar. You. Love. Gaia.
Oh, shut up.
With a groan Sam got out of bed and walked over to his computer. If he couldn't sleep, he had to do something, and there was only one thing he could think of that might take his mind off the Gaia problem.
Sam had been a chess geek since grade school. Only thatinner geekcould save him now. He logged on to the Internet and went to the pogo.com game site. From there he logged in as Moonman and proceeded to the chess area. Sam bypassed the "blue" chess rooms. Those places were full of beginners and low-rated players. Even though he had been on the site only a few times, Sam's rating was already edging three
thousand. If he was going to find a challenge, he would have to do it in the site's "red" room.
Sam yawned while the site loaded. It was funny how as soon as he got out of bed, he started to feel like he could sleep. He wasn't fooled. One quick game to clear his mind, then he would give the bed another try.
A scrolling list of chess games appeared on the screen. Even at this late hour most of the tables were already occupied with games in progress. At others a single name beside the board indicated someone waiting for a challenger. Sam passed up a couple of players with ratings under two thousand. He flipped to the bottom of the list and was happy to see the small silhouette of a waiting player who was rated at 2,950. It was a perfect number, within ten points of Sam's own rating.
Sam reached for the mouse and was about to join the game when he noticed the name of thisperfectly matched player.
Gaia13.
He froze. It could be a coincidence. There had to be other girls in the world with the name Gaia who liked chess.
Sam's fingers began to literally tremble above the mouse button. He wanted to join the game. There was a chat facility that let the two players send messages to each other while playing. If it really was Gaia--his Gaia--Sam would have a chance to tell her some of the things that he had been thinking for the last few days.
He was going to press the button and go in.He was.
It's not her. It can't be her.
His finger touched the plastic of the button. All he had to do was click the button. All he had to do was . . .
The icon that represented a waiting player suddenly disappeared.
Gaia13 has left.
Sam leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. It wasn't her. The name players used on pogo was only a nickname. Just because some player used the name Gaia didn't mean it was Gaia Moore. It wasn't her.
Sam didn't believe that for a second.
WHO IS? QUERY RESULTS
Movie of the Week
Moore, Katia
*No Records Found.*
Whois? Query Results
Moore, Gaia
*No Records Found.*
Mary Moss frowned and gave her mouse a shove that sent it sliding across the desktop. She had tried a hundred different search engines and a dozen different queries, and she was still no closer to finding out what she wanted to know. There were a zillion
people named Moore and at least ten thousand named Katia. But nowhere could Mary find that combination--the combination that was the name of Gaia's mother.
Ever since Gaia had decided to share the story of her mother's death, Mary had been obsessed with finding out more.The story had everything. There was violence. Murder. Mystery. And, of course, heartbreaking tragedy. Gaia Moore was a regular walking movie of the week. And Mary was a sucker for drama.
But of course, it was more than that. Gaia was Mary's friend. Gaia had saved Mary's ass, both physically and emotionally, on more than one occasion. Maybe this was Mary's chance to finally do something for her best friend.
Mary leaned back in her chair and ran her fingers through her ginger red hair. There had to be some way to get the information she was after. There had to be someplace she could go, someone she could ask.
If I only had a little blast of coke, I'd be able to think so, so much better.The idea of the drug was enough to make Mary shiver. A little cocaine would be like a glass of cold water after crossing a desert. Just one little line would be like ten pounds of Dove dark chocolate. It would be like ... like ...
It would be like setting your hair on fire and trying to put it out with gasoline.
Mary knew well enough that there was no such thing as just one little line of coke. One line of coke could turn into a thousand miles of white powder. Mary had only started fishing her life out of the toilet she had fallen into after her last tangle with drugs. The last thing she needed was to jump inside and flush.
Another idea occurred to Mary. She selected another site from the menu and waited until the search box came up.
ALTAVISTA
ADVANCED
QUERY
FACILITY
moore AND katia
--No results. Try another query.--
ALTAVISTA
ADVANCED
QUERY
FACILITY
moore AND death AND fire
--1 Result Found--
Mary almost typed a fresh querybefore she realized that she had gotten a hit. Quickly she snatched back her mouse and clicked on the link.
The page turned out to be the archives of a small upstate paper. The article was so different from the story that Gaia told, Mary thought for a second it was just a mistake. Then she realized it wasn't a mistake. It was a lie.
LOCAL WOMAN DIES IN FIRE
The west county home of Mr. and Mrs. Thomas Moore burned down in the early morning hours this Tuesday. Mr. Moore, an employee of the State Department, and his young daughter escaped the blaze, but Mrs. Moore was unable to leave the home in time. The county coroner's office indicates that Mrs. Moore died of smoke inhalation.
The article continued for half a column, but there was no mention of any guns. Mary ran her finger along the monitor glass. The article didn't agree at all with the story that Gaia had told her. Not even the stupidest coroner in the world would mistake a gunshot wound for smoke inhalation. And Gaia had never mentioned her house burning down. That meant either the paper was wrong or Gaia was lying.
Mary was willing to bet anything that Gaia had told the truth. That meant someone had created this story. Someone with enough pull to get just what they wanted planted in a local paper. Someone with enough power to convince local officials to lie.
Mary smiled. This story was getting better.
Mary's heart bounced in her chest. Fear ran through her body like strong acid.
THERE WAS NOTHING LIKE Asleepless night to make morning look like the bottom of a litter box.
Boiled in Beer
Sam brushed his teeth for a solid ten minutes and still couldn't manage to dislodge the fur that was growing on his tongue. He stared at the face in the mirror and winced. He was supposed to meet Heather in only an hour. If he didn't manage to look a little less likea refugee fromNight of the Living Dead
, the Gaia Problem was going to turn into the No-Girlfriend-At-All Problem.
Sam found he could think a little more clearly about Gaia now that the sun was up. It was clear to him that Gaia had moved on. Maybe she once wanted to be with Sam. Maybe she had never given him a passing thought. Maybe she had only kissed him because someone hadmassaged her brain with a blunt object. One thing was sure--Gaia wasn't thinking about Sam. According to the phone conversation Sam had held with Gaia's stepmother, Gaia had a boyfriend.
Gaia hadn't even bothered to thank Sam for the Christmas present he had bought for her. If there had been a chance for Sam and Gaia the couple, that chance was over.
There were absolutely zero odds that he was ever going to be with Gaia Moore.
So why do I keep obsessing about her?
He splashed cold water on his face and scrubbed it off with a slightly stale towel. It was like he was haunted by Gaia.He wondered if he could find a priest willing to do an exorcism.
At least I have Heather,
he told himself. Then he gave himself a mental kick for having the thought. It wasn't like Heather was some sucky consolation prize. Heather was undeniably and totally beautiful. Half the guys at school were chasing Heather, and the other half didn't even feel worthy enough to try.
Oh, yeah, and there was sex. Only a few nights before there had been sex. It wasn't like Sam had a terrific amount of experience with sex, but sex with Heather was fun. It was good, no,
great.Great sex. Any guy should feel lucky to have Heather. Having Heather was still the best thing in his life. His Gaia-free life.
Once he was cleaned up and dressed, Sam felt a little better. Less like a zombie and more like he was only terminally ill. He slipped on his coat, took a last dismal look into the mirror, and started out the door.
Before he could get all the way into the hall, another door down the way flew open and music spilled
out. A short, wide-shouldered guy with curly brown hair and a broad grin stumbled into the hall. "Sam!" he cried in a voice loud enough to be heard in Brooklyn. "My favorite person in the world!"
Sam winced at the volume. "Hey, Brian." From the slurred, overloud voice and the unsteady walk, Sam could tell that Brian Sandford hada very low percentage of blood in his alcohol system.
The other student took a swaying step. "Man, it's good to see you."
Sam forced himself to smile. Something was badly wrong here. Brian Sandford was obviously drunk, but Sam didn't think he was drunk enough to forget one fact--Brian and Sam hated each other.
Brian was a local who had wandered over to NYU from the Village School. He seemed to have the same set of friends as Heather, though Sam knew Brian wasn't in the class of people that Heather would have considered the top rank. It had taken Sam several meetings to figure out that Brian had the flaming hots for Heather Gannis. He seemed to consider the fact that Heather was dating Sam as some kind of personal insult.
From the broad smile on his face, it seemed that Brian had finally recovered from his jealousy. "It's been a long time, huh?"
"I saw you two nights ago, Brian. At the Kellers' party, remember?"
Brian nodded enthusiastically. He stumbled down the hallway toward Sam and put a hand on the wall to steady himself. "Yeah," he said. "Good party. Too bad you left so soon." Brian's breath was so strong that it made Sam's eyes water.It was clear that Brian hadn't been leaving any parties early. He didn't smell like he had been drinking beer. He smelled like he had been
boiled
in beer.
"I'm glad you enjoyed it," Sam said. He closed the door to his room and zipped up his coat. "I'll be seeing you."
A heavy hand came down on Sam's shoulder. "Too bad about you and Heather," said Brian.
Puzzled, Sam turned and looked into Brian's flushed, smiling face. "What?"
"You know," said Brian. "How you guys are breaking up and everything."
He's drunk,
Sam thought.
He's drunk, and he doesn't know what he's talking about.
"Did Heather say something to you?"
"Heather? Nah." Brian's red eyes closed for a moment, and his mouth gaped open. Sam could practically see the two sober brain cells in Brian's head scrambling to dredge up the memory. "It was the guys, man. They were saying how Heather was doing maid service."
"Maid service?"
"You know. Going from bed to bed."
A flash of cold ran up Sam's back, and hefelt a sudden, metallic tightnessin his guts. "They're lying."
Sam tried to put some kind of authority into his voice, but it wasn't enough to stop the flow of words that spilled from Brian's beer-saturated throat. "That's not what Charlie says."
The coldness in Sam's back began to spread into his legs and arms. There was a buzzing noise in his head. "Charlie."
"Charlie Salita. You know Charlie."
Sam did know Charlie. Charlie was a jock and a standard at all the parties Heather attended. "You're saying that Charlie Salita slept with Heather."
Brian's smile grew even wider. "Charlie says she's really hot," he said.
"He's lying."
Brain leaned in closer. "He's got details, man. He knows things about Heather."
"He's making it all up," Sam insisted.
"Charlie says your old girlfriend is a real bunny in the sack."
Sam Moon wasn't a violent person. He played chess, not football. He couldn't remember being in a real fight since junior high. None of that mattered.
He raised his right hand, carefully folded his
fingers, drew back his arm, anddrove his fist straight into Brian Sandford's grinning face.
THE TRAIL OF BLOOD STRETCHEDacross the frozen ground. Gaia bent and touched her finger to a bright red splash.Cold. The blood was as cold as the snow it was staining.
Like a Family
Gaia stood and looked ahead. The snow was falling so thickly that she could barely see twenty feet, but somewhere up there she could see shadowy movement. Gaia hurried along, jumping over one splash of blood after another.
Cold wind streamed through her tangled hair and brought goose pimples from the bare skin of her arms and throat. Gaia tried to remember why she was outside in such cold weather without a coat. Or shoes.
The blood trail led into a grove of stark, black-trunked trees. The shadowy figure was closer now, and the blood spots were closer together. Gaia moved faster. She had to catch up. She had to catch up before . . . she didn't know what. Something was going
to happen, something bad, and Gaia was the only one who could stop it.
A new shape loomed up out of the snow. It was a building. A house.
Gaia ran ahead for a few steps, then skidded to a stop in the ankle-deep snow. It wasn't just any house--it was her house. Not the brownstone she shared with the Nivens. Her real home. The house where she had lived with her parents.With her mother.
No sooner had the thought of her mother crossed Gaia's mind than a figure ran up the steps and into the house. Gaia had only enough time to tell it was a woman before the front door opened and closed with a bang.
"Mom?" Gaia ran toward the door. "Mom!"
Snow dusted the steps leading up to the door and was drifted against the sides of the house. There was blood here, too.Lots of blood. There was blood on the steps. On the porch. On the door.
Gaia pulled at the door, but it refused to open. "Mom!" she shouted. "Mom, let me in!" There was no answer from the house.
She began to hammer on the door.
Bang. Bang.
Gaia smashed her fist against the door. The whole thing looked too fragile to stand, much less hold up to blows. Gaia struck out again, and the door rattled in its frame. She jumped and planted a solid kick. The
bare sole of her foot clapped against the wood. Dust flew into the blood-stained snow.
Thump.
The boards held.
Gaia gritted her teeth. The door didn't look strong. But no matter how she battered at the aged boards, they wouldn't break.
"Gaia," called a voice from inside.
"Mom?" Gaia froze. "Mom, is that you?"
"Gaia." The voice was soft and familiar.
Gaia put her ear against the door. "Mom. It's me. Will you let me in?"
"Gaia!" This time the voice was a scream. And it wasn't Gaia's mother.
Gaia leaped back from the door. "Mary?"
"Gaia!" screamed the voice inside the house. "Gaia, help me!"
Gaia leaped, spun, and kicked the center of the door with all her strength. With a loud crash the door jumped in its frame. A thin crack split the center board from top to bottom. Fragments of wood rained down. Gaia kicked again. And again. Then followed up the kicks with a blow from a stiff right hand.
The crack widened.
"Hang on!" Gaia shouted into the opening. "I'm coming!"
She spun and directed another kick at the door, but before her foot could reach the wood, strength
drained from her legs.The blow landed as only a weak thump. Gaia tried again, but this kick was even weaker.
She staggered and fell against the door. Her muscles were failing. This was supposed to happen after the fight, not in the middle. She couldn't collapse now, not when Mary was still in danger.
Gaia pushed herself away from the burned boards, drew in a deep breath, and pounded against the door with everything she had. Left hand.
Thump.
Right hand.
Thump.Kick.
Thump.
Blood began to pour out from under the door. Not a few spots of blood or drops of blood. Streams of blood. Buckets of blood.
The blows did nothing. Gaia was weak. Too weak to help Mary. Too weak to help anyone.
Gray fog closed in at the edge of her vision. Gaia was completely drained. Helpless.
"No," she whispered. "No, I have to get it open." She brought her hand down against the wood over and over.
Thump.
Thump.
Knock.
Thump.
Knock.
Knock.
Gaia's eyes flew open. She came off the bed in a
fighting crouch, jumped into the center of the room, and searched for the nearest enemy.
Only there were no enemies. No corpse of a house in the middle of the snowy woods. No locked door. There was only a bedroom with an unmade bed and several careless heaps of clothes.
Gaia stood there for a moment, her breath coming hard. A dream. It had only been a dream.
The knock at the bedroom door came again. "Gaia? Are you up?"
Gaia groaned. It was Ella's voice. "Yes," she admitted. "I'm up."
"Good. I've got breakfast ready."
Gaia frowned at her bedroom door. This seemed real, but she had to be dreaming. "What did you say?"
"Breakfast is ready."
Gaia wondered if that sentence had ever before passed between Ella's overly red lips. Domestic was not Ella's middle name.Gaia decided she would rather face another nightmare than eat breakfast with a bimbo. "No, thanks," she said.
"You're sure you won't grace this event with your presence?" Even through the door Ella's voice carried enough sarcasm to cut steel. "There's French toast."
"No, thanks, I . . ." Gaia blinked. Wait a minute. Replay that last statement. "Did you say French toast?"
"Yes, but if you don't want it--"
Gaia's stomach grumbled. "I, um. I mean, okay. I'll be down in a minute."
"How wonderful." From outside the door came the sound of Ella's high heels going down the steps.
Gaia looked down at her stomach. "Traitor," she mumbled. Eating breakfast with Ella was against all of Gaia's principles. Most days Ella was a bitch, pure and simple. She treated Gaia with all the warmth usually reserved for a social disease.
So what did it say about Gaia that she was willing to ignore those principles just for a little bread and syrup? "I really am weak," she said to the empty room. At least when it came to food.
She peeled off the oversized T-shirt she had worn to bed and slipped into a pair of worn cargo pants. As she rooted through the pile of clothes on the floor in search of a sweatshirt that had been worn less than three times, Gaia's thoughts returned to her nightmare.
Gaia was not a big believer in dreams. Somewhere among the thousand and one books that her father had force-fed to her, she had even digested Freud's book on dreams. Gaia wasn't buying it. Dreams were just little movies in your head, not predictions about the future. If you dreamed you were falling, it didn't mean you were going to fall. If you dreamed you hit the ground, it didn't mean you were about to die.
