Supernormal (15 page)

“It got ugly,” Ashley said again.  “We were fast, and strong, and there were other people there.  They tried to get out of the way.  That’s when…I hurt Dr. Burke.  The man I put in a coma.  He tried to talk to us.  Thought he could talk to us.”  But she had been beyond listening at that point, beyond understanding.  “He got in the way—we landed wrong, and… ”  And now he was never going to wake up.  Proom had gotten frustrated when Burke’s family had decided to keep him on life support and refused to even listen to Proom’s pitch about turning him over to the program.  A waste, he’d said, when the program had proven with the Beta group how much it could do with adult subjects.

“I’m sorry.”

Ashley sighed.  It felt like it came from every cell in her body.  “Me, too.”

“What about the other kid?”

She felt her heart squeeze a little at that.  Because Cam would ask.  He would wonder, and worry, and, if he could, do something about it.  She wanted to stop herself, to not have to say
this
, but she couldn’t seem to help herself.  Not when Cam was there, watching her with that steady, blue gaze.  “I—started winning.  We were always pretty even, but I started winning.  And he smiled.  He didn’t last long.”

“Ashley,” Cam began, but she shook her head.  She didn’t want his sympathy.  She didn’t want his understanding.

“I found out later he was sick already, and trying to hide it.  I think he did it on purpose,” Ashley told him.    “He put up a good fight, but I think he let me win.  I think he didn’t—want to die like the others.”  She leaned forward on the table and closed her eyes against it, hoping that would stop the stinging in her eyes.  “Maybe I just tell myself that.  Maybe I need that to be real.  Maybe I’m just lying to myself because I’m too scared of the truth.”

“I’m sorry,” Cam said again, and for the first time in a long time, Ashley wanted to cry.  She hadn’t cried in years, not all the time she’d been in the facility, or the years before.  She’d taken pride in not crying, not even when her bones ached and her skin itched from getting cut open, not when the other subjects started falling around her, or when they’d thrown her into a holding cell, hands and mouth still full of blood, after that last desperate fight.  Now she wanted to.  But she didn’t think she could.

“Is that why you’re here?” Cam asked, adding, “Meg mentioned that you had gotten into some trouble and were sent here so Brody could look out for you.”

Ashley nodded.  “He has to straighten me out.  It wasn’t working at the facility.”

“And Brody can straighten you.”  She heard the question he didn’t voice.

“My group wasn’t the first,” she answered.  “The agency that hired Proom, they wanted to work on adults first.  Marines.  SEALs.  People who had already signed up for service.  But adults didn’t take to the…treatments as well.  Not like us, they didn’t go crazy—at least, I don’t think so.  But the research wasn’t as advanced.  They weren’t able to do as much, and it didn’t work on everyone.  Brody is one of their success stories.  He’s one of the reasons Proom got the green light to move onto a second round of test subjects.  Younger test subjects.  Adults were tricky, the doctors thought it might work better if the subjects were younger.”

“Looks like it’s working out.”

Ashley nodded.  “Yeah…”  It came out on a shaky breath.

There must have been something in her face, or her expression.  “Ashley?”

“He says I don’t have to go back.  They wanted me to get better so they could send me back, and Proom could start up his program again, and do it all over again.  But Brody says I don’t have to.  He says I can
stay
.”  And Ashley, who never cried, who just wondered if she could cry, felt the tears spill over.

Ch. 15

The air in Dr. MacNamara’s office was stale and still, like a museum’s.  The shades on the windows weren’t pulled back.  There was coffee in the coffee pot, but it was definitely cold, and Cam wasn’t willing to swear to age.

Dr. MacNamara had returned to Sugar Beach two days ago, and the first inclination that he got, that anyone got, that she was back was when she called to arrange sessions.  He’d caught people whispering about Dr. MacNamara’s return, seen them sending over casseroles and cookie platters.  Meg, who loved any excuse to cook, refused to participate, insisting, “It’s not a goddamn funeral.”

The door opened to her inner office.  “Camron?”  Dr. MacNamara gave him a smile, or an approximation thereof.  “Please come in.”

Cam stood automatically, but it took him a second to follow her in.  She looked—his mind rejected words like “awful” and “devastated” as impolite, and he finally settled on “tired.” She looked as if she hadn’t slept since Ian went missing, like she didn’t care if she ever slept again.  Her hair was pulled back in a loose ponytail instead of its usual sleek knot, and her pants were rumpled.

“Do you want something to drink?” Dr. MacNamara asked, shutting the door behind him.  “I have tea.  I’m out of coffee.  I haven’t had a chance to restock.”

“No, thank you.”

“Something to eat?  Everyone’s been very kind, bringing over food.”  Dr. MacNamara’s voice was bitter.

“No.  Thank you, ma’am,” Cam said.  “I’m sorry.”

She didn’t answer at first, and she didn’t look at him.  Then she cleared her throat and gestured for him to take a seat.  Cam chose the chair across from her.  “That’s very kind.  You don’t know Ian, do you?”

“I’ve only met him a couple of times so far.  Meg did some work for his store, and Danny likes to stop by.”

Dr. MacNamara nodded and sat up straight—straighter than usual—keeping her eyes fixed on the notepad on her lap.  “I am sorry we missed our last session.  How are you?”

“Fine.  How are you?”

She ignored the question and scribbled something in her notepad.  “Last time we discussed your powers.  Would—would you like to continue with that?”

“Yes.”

“Any particular…problems you’d like to discuss?  About your powers.”  She wasn’t writing, he noticed.  Just scraping the pencil back and forth in quick, angry strokes.

“Yes.  It gets me in trouble with the cops.”

The doctor looked up at him, then.  One quick flash of surprise before she forced her focus back down to the paper.  “Is that so?”

“I tell the cops if I see something.  The things I see—I don’t always have a lot of time.  Not enough time to stop it.”

“That must be…difficult for you.”

“Yes.”  He tried to push that away.  “All I can do is go to the police and tell them what I saw.  And if there isn’t a lot of evidence, then there’s not a lot the police can do.”

“Understandable,” the doctor murmured.  “How does that make you feel?”

“Frustrated.”

“Yes.  I can see how that would be…frustrating.  Helplessness isn’t a nice feeling.”

“No,” he agreed.

She turned the pencil over and over in her fingers, her fingertips white with the pressure.  “It’d be easier if there was something you could do.  Someone you could talk to.  Someone you could track down and beat with a tire iron.”

“Crowbar,” Cam said, and Dr. MacNamara looked up at him.  “I’ve always imagined a crowbar.”

The doctor considered it.  “That could work, too.  You have a sister, don’t you?” she asked quietly.

“Naomi.”

“Are you close?”

He wanted to say yes.  He wanted it to be true.  “We were.”

Dr. MacNamara gave him a wry smile.  “Do you want to talk about it?”

Cam swallowed.  “Our parents…she loves them.  She cares about me, too, I think.  But for our parents it’s an either/or situation.  We haven’t spoken since I moved out here.”

“You haven’t been out here that long.  She could change her mind.”

“One of my father’s favorite quotes is, ‘Begin as you mean to go on.’  I don’t think she will.”

“I don’t have the energy to argue about that with you today,” Dr. MacNamara said.  “I’ll just say, I’m sorry.  Some brothers and sisters aren’t close.  It’s nice when they are.”

“Yes.  It is.  Just ask me,” Cam told her.

She closed her eyes.  “This session—”

“That’s why I’m here.”

Dr. MacNamara’s jaw worked, and then she set her pencil down and looked up at him.  “Is he, can you see if he’s all right?”  The longing cracked through her composure.

“He’s alive.  He’s fine.  He’s—” 
Pacing
.  On that same white tile floor, though soon it’d be
the stretcher
, the one with the shackles to keep him still, and
a tray of sleek, shining syringes
.  “He’s fine,” Cam repeated.  “He’s being held in some sort of hospital.  I think.”  Except something was off about it; it felt too small to be a hospital room.  The walls were too close.  And there was something funny about the bed.  Probably the shackles.

Mostly, though, Cam saw feet—
bare feet—back and forth
, the steps blurring together into endlessness.  And, often, a pair of
rubber-gloved hands, swabbing Ian’s wrist with alcohol
.  And then the
syringes.  A needle piercing his skin, a small red dot welling up
.  And something else. 
Almost an echo. 
Voices? 
Vibrations swelled up,
and Cam let it go before he got too dizzy.  “I’m sorry.  I can’t…I can’t see where or by who.”

“I know who,” Dr. MacNamara said.

“You do?  Then why—?”

She flipped her notepad closed.  “I’m sorry.  I don’t think this was a good idea.  It might be a little too soon for me to start holding sessions again.”  She stood.  “I’ll give you a call when I start up again.”

Cam stood, hesitated.  “I’ll give you a call, if I see anything.”

“Thank you.  Please, go,” she said, her voice cracking.

Cam left quickly, so she could be alone while she cried.

Cam went to Brody’s after, and followed the sounds of fighting around to the back.  It was well into the afternoon, almost evening now, but from the sound of things Brody and Ashley were still at it.

Ashley had told Cam about asking Brody to teach her how to fight, and from what Cam could see, Brody took the request deadly serious.  The two spent most of the day, every day, working on it, to where people were starting to ask Cam why they never saw Ashley run the beach anymore, or Brody’s plane overhead. 

Cam stepped onto the porch, and then had to step back as Ashley went sprawling past him.  Brody had cleared a space on the deck and set up some mats.  From the look of it, with the way Ashley landed, they weren’t much of a cushion.  He had to force himself not to reach out, not to ask if she was okay.  She was, and Cam knew from experience they’d both snap at him if he tried to help.  Brody must’ve seen, though, because he called out, “She’s fine, Cam.  She still needs to work on her temper, though.  Don’t you, princess?”

Ashley reached behind her, grabbing a deck chair and, easy as if it was paper, hurled it at Brody.  He ducked and it sailed past, crashing into pieces behind him.  “Maybe we should have Liz come by to work on your aim,” Brody told her.

Ashley shrieked, something wordless and guttural, and launched herself at Brody.  As Cam watched, Brody dodged easily, swatting her away as if they were two kids on the playground.  Cam went to one of the beach chairs that had been pushed to the edge of the deck and took a seat.  These matches were always half-entertaining.  The other half was…unsettling.  He’d known Ashley was fast, and strong, but sometimes he forgot just how fast.  How very strong.  Maybe it was because she was, she could be, calm and still with him.  Seeing her in practice—it made Cam think of what she’d said, about her fight with the other young man.  It made his stomach churn to think it, but—no wonder they’d pulled guns.

His stomach twisted again as he thought about that moment in Paco’s.  That first punch in the gut when he saw her back, that long, horrible scar running straight down her spine, and the neat network of others fanning out.  And the second punch, the delayed but persistent realization that she hadn’t been wearing a bra.

She was wearing one now.  A white cotton sports bra, which he could see very clearly because she’d yanked off her shirt and tossed it in a corner somewhere.  A cotton sports bra and a pair of shorts, and that was it.  It was practical, Cam told himself.  Practical.  It was warm out—very warm—and she had to move a lot—Christ, she could move—and she couldn’t very well move in layers of clothing.  He tried to focus on her back, on the
scars
on her back, and felt clearer.  It was daunting to see the extent of what they’d done to her.  It made him angry.  Cam wasn’t one to anger easily.  He hadn’t been brought up with it, and didn’t see the point anyway.  Anger made things messy, and life was enough of a mess to begin with.  But seeing that maze of scars, Cam was angry—angry at the doctors who’d done it, angry at Ashley for letting them do it, but most of all a thick, black hatred for the man who’d put money down for it to happen and was apparently content to let Ashley pay the price.

Brody flung Ashley off again, and she went rolling into Cam’s deck chair.  Brody shot him a warning look when Cam got to his feet.

“God
dammit
, Brody!” Ashley spat out.

“Got a boo boo?” Brody asked.  “Going to need a time out soon?”

“Fuck you.”

Brody shrugged.  “Up.”

Her hair was falling in her face.  She clawed it back.  “I thought I was getting good at this.”

“Better.  You’re getting better.  Now get up so I can kick your ass again.”

Ashley pushed herself up, face flushed.  She would’ve gone again, but Cam grabbed her arm.  “Stop—”

It was a mistake.  He knew that, but she did stop herself.  Cam saw a blur, had a sense of motion coming towards his neck, but then it was gone and Ashley was standing in front of him, one hand trapping the other against her chest, holding it in place.

“Sorry,” she choked.

“No—Ashley,
stop
, you’re hurt—” he said quickly, before she could move away.  Slowly this time, carefully, he freed her arm, trying to ignore the fresh red nail-marks on her skin from where she’d dug in, tilting it so she could see.  “You’ve got a splinter.”

Splinter was an understatement.  And she was bleeding.

Ashley shrugged.  “Yeah.”

“It looks painful.”  He tried to stare her down, but she wouldn’t look at him.

“I’m good with pain, Cam,” she added, twisting her arm out of his grasp.  She turned back to Brody, who crossed his arms.

“Get it out now, Ash, before you heal over it.  Otherwise, we have to cut it out.”

Ashley flinched at that.

“Do you have tweezers, or pliers?” Cam asked, and was going to add rubbing alcohol to the list, but Ashley simply ripped the splinter out herself.  “That…works, too.  Still, you should clean that,” he said, even though under the long red streaks he could already see it healing into a pink seam.

“I’ll be fine,” she said.

“Still—”

“You can kiss and make it better later,” Brody called.  “We’re not done, Ashley.”

“Watch his right,” Cam murmured quickly.  “And his leg.”

Ashley glanced at him, then rushed at Brody, shifting to the left at the last moment and ducking low to catch him in a football tackle.  She almost got him down, but Brody didn’t try to trip her up with his leg.  He kneed instead.  Ashley doubled over but tried to use it, spinning to the side and briefly getting his arm up behind his back.

“All right, all right.”  Brody easily twisted out of Ashley’s grasp.  That was another unsettling thing.  For all of Ashley’s speed and strength, Brody was always better.  It wasn’t because he was stronger than her, and it certainly wasn’t because he was faster.  Brody was strong, and he was fast; Cam remembered what Ashley had said about Brody being in a Beta group, and Cam could see it now, next to Ashley.  But it was more than that—it was the way Brody simply always seemed to know better.  To always be exactly where he needed to be to dodge, to strike, to get control.  Cam, well, he couldn’t exactly wonder at his aunt’s choice of friends, but he did wonder where Brody had learned his tricks.  “Calm down.  That’s enough for today.  Good job.”

Ashley grinned.  “Giving up?” she tossed at Brody.  She was breathing heavily, and Cam tried to keep his eyes on her face.

“Yes, you have worn me down into submission by letting me kick your ass so many times.”  He nodded for her to get up.  “Next time we’ll work on control.  It’ll give me a break.  And, Cam?  That was cheating.”

Cam nodded.  “Yes, it was.”

Brody grinned.  “How’s Dr. Mac?”

“Dealing,” Cam said, then changed that to, “Trying to.  It wasn’t really a session,” he said as Brody tossed a water bottle to Ashley.  She snagged it out of the air and went to sit by Cam, tucking her legs up under her on the chair.  “She just wanted to ask me about Ian.  Nothing new,” he said at their look.  “But at least she can file a missing persons report now.”