Night Betrayed (37 page)

Lou’s face relaxed. “I like it. I’ll do my best to get him talking and keep him facing away from the door. You come in behind and we’ll go from there.”

“But you have to do something to make him think you’re alone. Otherwise—”

“Christ, Theo, do you think I’ve lost my brains with my ripped muscles? I’ve got it,” Lou said. “Get going. Give me ten minutes.”

Theo hesitated, then nodded. “All right. It’s your funeral, bro,” he said lightly, even though his stomach was still in knots. “Ten minutes, and I’m in. And by the way,” he added as he started toward the door, “what ripped muscles?”

Adrenaline spiked through Lou as he approached the door to the operating room. He had the rifle Theo had taken from the bounty hunters’ truck slung over his shoulder, and little else to protect himself—except his wits.

He decided on the bold approach; and after giving Theo a few minutes to get outside, Lou opened the door and walked into the operating room.

Ballard didn’t seem to notice him at first because he was using a pulley and sling to drag the woman in the channel out of the goop. She hung there for a moment, her legs and arms moving sluggishly at first, and then with greater agitation as the slick matter fell from her skin.

“Now, now,” Ballard told her. “You’re going to be just fine. Take it easy, my dear. Take it easy.” He shifted the pulley and maneuvered the woman over to one of the tables. Dropping her onto it, he moved quickly and attached one of her legs before he slid the sling from her body.

“Tell me,” he said conversationally, “would you like to know how long you’ve been under suspension? That state of . . . being in limbo.”

She didn’t seem to have enough strength to fight him, and Lou watched in horrified fascination as Ballard restricted her other leg and torso on the long table.

“How long I’ve . . .” she said.

“According to my records,” Ballard replied, his back still to Lou, “you’ve been suspended—my term, you know—since June fifteenth, two thousand ten. That’s more than fifty years. Can you believe it? And not one gray hair.” He gave a gentle laugh. “If only you didn’t have to swim in that horrible gel.”

“What?” the woman gasped. “What are you talking about?” She started coughing, hard, and Ballard looked up from where he was affixing her wrist, concern on his face.

“Oh dear, already?” He made a facetious tsking sound. “That was quick. Well, we’d best work quickly. I don’t fancy having to dig another of your companions out tonight.”

The woman managed to get her coughing spell under control, and she asked, “What are you—” Her voice broke and she started coughing again, racking and arching under her restraints as she tried to catch her breath.

“My dear,” Ballard said, sounding annoyed, “this is not going well. You’re going to need to stop that if you want me to continue. Perhaps if you calmed down a bit, we could chat, you could tell me about what you used to do . . . and then we can—”

“You’re a long way from stem cell research, aren’t you, Ballard?” Lou said, unable to wait any longer.

The doctor spun and paused when he saw the old man standing there. “Who the hell are you?” He had a pistol in his hand before Lou could blink.

“I remember your picture from when it was on Time,” Lou said casually. “But I never thought I’d meet you in real life. I figured you’d died with everyone else back during the hell of two thousand ten.”

“Who are you?” Ballard asked again, and he cocked the gun.

“It’s not important. But I’m quite curious about what you’re doing here. It doesn’t look like you’re taking the Hippocratic oath very seriously, Lester.”

“Put your gun over there, and move slowly and carefully to that wall.” Ballard didn’t seem to be interested in conversation—at least with Lou. “You’re interrupting a very important process and I don’t have time to waste.”

Lou moved slowly to place the gun where directed, relieved that the position Ballard pointed him to was on the wall opposite where Theo would appear. If he could keep him distracted, Theo would have the opportunity to slip in behind.

Gun. He thought the message hard and sharp to his twin as he took his place near the wall. The gun still aimed at him with a steady hand, Ballard approached and clipped a wrist restraint over Lou. Meanwhile, the woman had been coughing and choking more violently, causing Ballard to keep looking over at her.

“I’ll deal with you in a minute,” he told Lou, hurrying back to the woman. “This is not going well.”

“What are you doing?” Lou asked. “Reviving her?”

Ballard had moved over to the table with the utensils on it and rested his pistol there, well on the other side and out of Lou’s reach. “In a manner of speaking. They don’t usually react this strongly so quickly after being retrieved. She must be of weak constitution. But . . .” His voice trailed off as he became engrossed in selecting a huge hypodermic needle from the line-up on the end of the table near Lou.

Theo. Hurry up!

“Now, my dear,” Ballard said, projecting his voice toward the woman, “if you would just calm yourself—perhaps answer a few questions—then you wouldn’t be in such distress. Can you remember what it was you used to do before this all happened?”

Lou watched as the doctor moved with spare efficiency: testing the needle, priming it with the liquid in the small dish, and then carefully selecting one of the orange crystals and inserting it into the needle’s cannula, where it floated in the liquid inside. Oh, that can’t be good.

The crystal glowed and the doctor turned back to his patient, who seemed to have begun to wither and wrinkle as time went on. The whole process reminded Lou of a sea creature being removed from the ocean and shrinking and drying up . . . trying to breathe, gasping for air.

“What are you doing?” he asked again, at the same time as he thought Theo!

The fact that neither of them answered gave Lou a bad, bad feeling.

The woman seemed to have tried to respond to the doctor’s last question, but her answer came out more like a gasp or sigh than anything else.

“What was that?” the physician leaned closer in an attempt to hear. “A teacher? Is that— No? An officer? Oh, a police officer. I see.” He moved toward the top of the woman’s head and palpated the crown of her skull with his thumb as she tried to shift and struggle in the restraints. “That’s too bad,” he murmured, holding the needle up and eyeing it, and then with a studied movement, as Lou watched in silent horror, he shoved the four-inch needle into the woman’s skull and pushed the plunger home.

She screamed and writhed, coughing and choking, her eyes wide with torture. Lou flew into action, struggling at his own binding, trying to find a way to unlatch the cuff around his wrist.

“My God, what are you doing to her?” he demanded as Ballard removed the needle, smiling in approval.

“Watch,” the doctor replied.

As if Lou could turn his eyes away.

Just then, the door behind Ballard cracked open. Thank God. What the hell took you so long?

You said ten minutes.

That was the longest fucking ten minutes I’ve ever lived through. Lou kept his eyes away from the door.

Theo slipped through the opening, silent as a cat, and Lou saw his attention go to the woman on the table. He shifted, purposely clanking his restraint, so that his brother would see that he was limited in range and mobility. But . . . his eyes lit on the table next to him. He might be able to reach one or two of the needles.

They didn’t need to meet eyes; the mental bond was there. Lou knew when Theo was ready to move, and he prepared himself.

They both went into action at the same time: Theo leaping from behind, something long and flexible in his hands, and Lou kicking out with his foot toward the table. He hooked it and yanked it toward him as Theo lunged toward the doctor, slipping the hose around his neck from behind.

Taken completely by surprise, as he’d been engrossed in watching his patient, Ballard dropped the needle and reached up to grab at the tube cutting into his throat. Lou scrambled, trying to reach for something on the rocking table as it spilled needles and crystals all over the floor.

Ballard was shrieking silently and ineffectively, and Theo was doing his best to swing him around by the neck and keep him off balance. The Elite were superhumanly strong, as well as being immortal, and Lou knew his brother was going to have to rely on momentum and surprise to best him.

He managed to snag two needles, bending to scoop them up. My God, these are fucking huge. It was like shoving a straw into someone’s brain. Lou glanced at the victim on the table and saw that her skin had begun to turn gray . . . and she seemed to be changing. Stretching, growing, elongating.

God in heaven.

Theo looked at Lou and swung the doctor hard to the side, crashing his head into the wall, and then using the momentum to whip around and do it again. They were working their way toward Lou and he knew what he’d have to do.

Scalpel. He looked at the instruments all over the floor and spotted one of the surgical knives. It was . . . just . . . in . . . reach . . .

He knelt, aware of the flailing, kicking feet of his brother and the man he was trying to subdue, managed to avoid a shoe in the face but got one in the arm, and grabbed the scalpel.

“ ’Bout time,” Theo grunted, and shoved the man toward Lou.

With his free hand, Lou grabbed the white lab coat, trying to determine which side the crystal was on.

Ballard had slowed, his struggles getting weaker, his breath wheezing. Too bad being strangled won’t kill him—A leg whipped out and caught at Lou, who nearly dropped the knife.

“Fuck,” Theo muttered between clenched teeth. “Hurry the fuck . . . up!”

Lou grasped the scalpel and yanked again at the lab coat as Theo swung the guy around once more. The flash of a glow caught his eye and he knew where to go.

With a cry of effort, he sliced down with the scalpel, dragging it through fabric and skin.

Theo felt Ballard jerk as Lou’s knife finally sliced into him. He held on to the tubing around the doctor’s throat, trying not to be distracted by the woman on the table, who seemed to be writhing and fighting off some sort of demon.

Three more times he had to swing the doctor around in front of Lou, who stabbed at each go around. His arms screamed with tension and effort, fighting against the strong, agile man. Finally, the physician’s knees gave out and he slumped to the floor. Theo followed him, tearing away the cut-up coat and shirt and finding the crystal embedded in his skin, just below the collarbone.

It was hanging by a thread, like a fucking loose tooth, and he yanked it free.

Ballard screamed as the tube around his neck came undone and the crystal was pulled from where it was rooted in his muscles, skin, throughout. Long tentacles came with the pale blue gem, and Theo stumbled back, holding it in his hand, collapsing on the floor in exhaustion.

His arms trembled, aching from holding the bastard for so long. The crystal felt warm, and it was slick with blood and mucus; long tendrils that looked like delicate fiber-optic cables trailed from it.

Ballard gave one last heave, and his eyes went blank. And then, as Lou and Theo watched, he began to shrivel into himself, as if drying under the sun like a grape into a raisin. Soon, there was nothing left but skin and bones—dry, brittle, brown, and old.

Theo scrambled to his feet, remembering the woman on the table, and gave her his attention for the first time.

He stared down at the creature—no longer a woman—strapped to the table. Her eyes glowed orange, her mouth was open with rotted teeth, and flesh sagged everywhere as if her body had swollen and grown, stretching and splitting her skin.

“God,” he murmured, reaching for the first time to touch the flesh of a ganga. This isn’t Mordor. This is Isengard, where the monsters are created.

The monster—no, she was a woman—jolted and arched and began to groan and sigh. And as Theo looked down, their eyes met. A jolt of recognition flashed through him, for, deep inside them, beyond the orange light, he saw her. He saw the woman; he saw comprehension. He saw fear and confusion and desperation.

He saw life.

And all at once, his knees felt weak and both darkness and light swarmed through him—and comprehension and realization awakened.

Now I understand.

He looked over at Lou, who was still holding the bloody scalpel, staring at the woman with the same stricken expression Theo knew he had.

Ah, Selena. Theo closed his eyes. I need you.

Selena was just closing Gloria’s eyes after the last vestiges of bluish-gray cloud disappeared when she heard voices coming from the kitchen.

One voice in particular.

Her heart skipped a beat and she forced herself not to leap up, not to whirl around, in case she was wrong. But inside, her stomach was filled with fluttering wings and now her heart was slamming in her chest like a young girl hearing her first boyfriend’s voice.

Theo.

She busied herself, doing what needed to be done for Gloria: covering her with a plain linen cloth after arranging her hands, saying a short prayer over her body, and standing as she drew the curtains of the carrel around her.

And only then did she allow herself to walk, slow . . . slower, back to the kitchen.

They were all there, filling up the space with the presence of their powerful bodies: Wyatt, Elliott, Lou, and Theo. Three heads of varying shades of dark, and one silvery one. Vonnie, too, of course, bustling around as if she’d just been given the greatest gift ever. Her cheeks were pink and her eyes bright.

But Selena only had eyes for Theo.

He looked good. So good. Young—especially in the company of the other men—and really good. Her mouth wanted to water, but it was too nervously dry. The shine of his jet-black hair, all tufted as it tended to do, and the smooth curve of his biceps beneath the rolled-up sleeve of his shirt made the rest of her just as warm and tingly from a distance as it had up close.

His eyes met hers as she came into view, and it was like a shock of awareness shuttling through her. Oh God, I’ve missed you.