The Deviant Underground (Time Bandit) (34 page)

Charge said nothing and simply sat there, continuing to stare out of the window. The illumination from an occasional streetlight showed his face full of pain and emotion. Kathryn teleported into the back seat and gripped his hand tightly. “Charge,” she whispered. “Talk to me. What's going on?”

He stayed silent a few moments longer. She patiently waited. Finally, he spoke. “She knows everything about us. Everything about me. She went inside my head and took it out.”

“What do you mean?”

“That woman. That bitch,” he said angrily. “She touched me and . . .” he gripped her hand tightly, as though he was reliving the moment “. . . I saw everything I knew fly through my mind. Like rapidly turning the pages of a book. Childhood memories. Stuff from college. Things I know about Jonathan and the Basement. Stuff about us.” His voice choked in the darkness. He paused for a moment before continuing. “Everything. Even stuff that I thought I had forgotten. I saw it all.
She
saw it all. She was just looking at me.” He squeezed her hand with such force that it was slightly painful, but Kathryn said nothing. “Her eyes were so black. Just so so black. Taking everything. Everything that was special to me.” His voice grew low. “And secret. And then she let me go.”

Kathryn looked at Charge's swollen eye, broken nose, and busted lip. Those outside injuries were nothing.

“And then do you know what she said?”

Kathryn didn't know if he required an answer, so she just stayed silent. After a moment, he continued. “She said 'thank you.' Just like that. 'Thank you.'“ He laughed bitterly. It was a sharp, barking sound. “Like I had just given her a fucking birthday present.” He then sighed, continuing to look out of the window. His grasp on Kathryn's hand loosened. The story was done.

“And that's why we can't go to the airport? Because she knows who we are and everything about us, and she probably told whoever it is she is working for and now we're on their radar?”

Charge nodded, and Kathryn thought a tear welled up in his one good eye. She put her head on his shoulder. He let go of her hand and wrapped his arm around her. She sat there, comfortably snuggled against his solid body. It was several hours before anyone spoke again.

***

Susan pulled off at a rest stop somewhere on I-40. “I gotta pee.” Kathryn had been dozing lightly in the back seat, her head still resting on Charge's shoulder. Susan parked, and they all got out. It felt good to stretch her legs. She had no idea how long they had been driving or what time it was. The night sky was still pitch black.

The rest stop was deserted. They all used the bathroom and then went back to the car. Charge had tried to freshen up a bit. His face still looked bad, but at least the dried blood had been washed away. It was an improvement, albeit a very slight one.

Charge chuckled. “I'm afraid my face is fucked up. I'll never be pretty again.”

Kathryn gently touched his swollen face. “Aw, baby, you'll always be pretty to me.” She kissed him lightly on his sore lip. She turned to Susan. “Okay. I'll drive next. You rest.”

They rotated drivers. One person would drive while the other two would sleep. Each person drove for about three hours before stopping at a rest stop to go to the bathroom, pulling up to a gas station to fill up, or going through a drive-thru for something to eat. They all made sure to keep under the speed limit. Getting pulled over was not an option.

According to Kathryn's GPS device, the drive from DC to LA would take about two days. They were not planning on stopping. They mostly drove in silence; the seriousness of the situation weighing heavily in the air. Charge was driving when the sun began to peek out over the horizon. From her position in the passenger seat, Kathryn watched the sun make its glowing assent through the mirror. The sky slowly changed from black to purple to blue as the yellow-red rays forced the night to retreat. It had been a long time since Kathryn had seen such a beautiful sunrise. In St. Louis, when the weather was nice, she would sometimes go for an early morning run in Forest Park. She remembered the wet, earthy smell of the day coming alive. She always liked those quiet mornings with nothing more than the changing sky and the pounding of her feet for company.

The idea of going back there seemed impossible now. That was an old life, totally irrelevant now. St. Louis held nothing for her. Even her job seemed miniscule and unimportant after everything that had happened. Kathryn began to strategize her exit. She looked at her GPS device and calculated a new route.

She finally spoke. “Charge, in about an hour and a half, you'll get to Memphis. When you do, take I-55 north.”

“Why?”

“Because, I need to stop in St. Louis to pick some things and quit my job.” She looked out of the window at the fresh, white clouds that had appeared. “I'm leaving for good to be with you.”

Charge grabbed her hand and squeezed slightly. “You sure?”

“Absolutely.” Kathryn sat back comfortably in the seat. She had never been so sure of a decision in her life. “Besides, we can take a small break and sleep in a actual bed before continuing on. We can be on the road again tomorrow morning.”

“Yay,” Susan said sleepily from the back seat.

Kathryn turned, amused. “'Yay' to what part? The leaving St. Louis part, or the sleeping in a real bed part?”

“Both.” Susan yawned and stretched before closing her eyes again.

At Memphis, Charge turned north up I-55. About an hour later, Kathryn resumed driving. When she finally saw the silver arch glittering elegantly in the sun, she was surprised that she felt nothing. She crossed the Mississippi, and fifteen minutes later pulled up to her apartment building. It was a little after 10:00. She figured the first thing she would do is to take a check to the main office. She was two months behind on her rent.

As they walked to the front door, Kathryn laughed. “Oh, shit.”

“What is it?” Susan asked.

“I don't have my keys.”

Susan snorted. “Please. Don't you realize by now that you don't need keys?”

“Huh,” Kathryn was a bit surprised at the obvious. “You're right.” She looked around, checking to see that no one was coming down the street, and she teleported the three of them upstairs and into her apartment.

What she saw rendered her speechless. She stood in the middle of the trashed room with her jaw on the floor. Finally, she found some words. “I've been FUCKING ROBBED!”

Everything was in disarray. Every knick-knack she had on every shelf had been knocked over. Shattered pieces lay strewn on the floor. The television had been overturned. All of her dvd and cd cases lay open and thrown around the room. Her coat closet had been pillaged. Its entire contents spilled out at their feet. All of the pictures she had on the walls were knocked down, and glass crunched under her boots as she slowly made her way into the kitchen.

The story was the same in there. Every cabinet was open. Every pot, pan, plate, cup, utensil, and piece of silverware lay on the floor. Everything that could be broken, was. Her pantry looked like it had exploded. Flour, sugar, and spices covered everything from the broken dishes on the floor to the hanging light on the ceiling. Even her refrigerator didn’t escape unscathed, and the few things she had in there lay rotting on the floor.

“OH MY GOD!” She crunched her way wildly back through the living room and into the bedroom. What she saw was more of the same. All her drawers were open and had been gone through. Her closet had been ransacked. Her clothes lay crumpled and trampled on. The bed where she and Charge had shared so many good times was overturned. The mattress lay awkwardly against the broken headboard. The box spring had a huge gash in the middle of it, exposing the tight coils. On her desk, amid the piles of mess, Kathryn could tell that her computer had been stolen. She had no idea what else was missing. “SHIT! FUCK!”

She stormed back into the living room where Charge and Susan stood there looking helpless. “What the FUCK am I going to DO?” Kathryn waved her hands wildly, gesturing at the complete turmoil. “Look at this shit! How could someone do this shit and no one call the police? What the HELL?”

As she looked around desperately at her life spilled and broken on the floor, her eyes settled on the couch. “Are you fucking KIDDING me?” She pointed at two bottles of Heineken sitting pristinely on the coffee table. “You fucking TRASH my apartment and then sit down and have a FUCKING BEER?”

Charge turned to look at the table. When he did, his face went pale. His gaze desperately darted around the room before settling uneasily on Kathryn's. He looked like he was going to be sick. “We have to get out of here,” he croaked.

“What are you talking about?” Kathryn yelled, still furious about the situation.

Charge ran up to her and grabbed her hand. “Back to the car, NOW!” His command shocked Kathryn into action. She reached out for Susan, who grabbed her hand without hesitation, and she teleported the three of them back to the street.

“GET IN!” Charge ran around to the driver's side, threw open the door, and jumped in, starting the car in one fluid motion. Kathryn and Susan slid in quickly as well. He peeled away from the curb, almost hitting a passing car. At record speed, he headed toward the highway. He was sweating, and he was gripping the steering wheel so tightly that his knuckles were white. The car flew back over the bridge and onto I-55 heading south. The tension in the car was so thick that Kathryn couldn't breathe. Her heart was pounding hard in her chest, although she didn't know why. She looked back at Susan, whose eyes showed that she was as confused as Kathryn was. Kathryn sat there, carefully watching Charge's expression for a clue as to what was going on. His firmly set jaw and piercing gaze revealed nothing but fear and anxiety.

After several minutes of racing far above the speed limit, Kathryn felt brave enough to issue a small warning. “Charge,” she said softly. “You might want to slow down a little. We don't want to get pulled over.”

He anxiously checked the rear view mirror. Seemingly satisfied at what he saw, he eased up on the gas. After they had been going at 65 miles an hour for several minutes, Kathryn needed some answers. “What was it? What was wrong?”

“That bitch,” he said through gritted teeth.

Kathryn looked back at Susan for clarification. Susan shrugged.

“What are you talking about?” Kathryn asked.

For a moment, Charge said nothing, and Kathryn questioned whether or not he heard her. Suddenly, he repeatedly pounded the steering wheel hard with his fist. “THAT BITCH!” he yelled. She jumped at the unexpected outburst.

“What? What did she do?”

“FUCK!” He hit the steering wheel one more time before slamming himself back in his seat. “Fuck!”

“What?” Kathryn asked again.

“Okay,” Charge sighed and gripped the wheel again. This time, however, he managed to stay under the speed limit. “Do you remember the first time we had sex? In your apartment? After we played basketball?”

Kathryn could never forget that day. “Sure,” she said. “Yeah, I remember.”

“Okay.” He paused, his good eye looking fiercely at the road. “Do you remember how it got started? We were drinking beers on the couch, and you were looking so damn sexy sitting there. I just had to touch you, but you were sipping on that damn beer, so I slowly took it out of your hand and placed it on the table before I kissed you. Do you remember?”

The memory came alive for Kathryn. She remembered the way he had done it—so smoothly. He had put the bottle down gently on the table before leaning in to her. It was such a seductive move, enticing in its simplicity. She felt that old familiar tingle between her legs. “Yeah.” She nodded with a slight smile. “I remember.”

“That bitch STOLE that memory from me.”

“What?”

“She stole that memory! She KNEW it was special, and she used it to send us a message. SHE KNOWS EVERY FUCKING THING ABOUT US!” Charge's outburst was emotional and intense. The car involuntarily swerved into the right lane, almost clipping another car.

“Whoa! Okay, Charge.” Kathryn's heart skipped a beat at the close call. “It's okay, baby. Just calm down for a second.” Charge said nothing, but the car did resume a more controlled pace. “So are you saying that my place wasn't trashed by random robbers? That she, or someone she sent, trashed my place on purpose to send us a message and left the bottles there as a kind of calling card?”

“That's exactly what I am saying,” Charge said angrily.

Susan asked quietly from the backseat, “So, what's the message?”

“That they are watching.” Charge's face grew dark. “And that we are not safe.”

Chapter Thirty Six

Charge picked up the phone and called Jonathan. He explained the entire scenario, sometimes talking, sometimes yelling. And one phrase he kept repeating, “They know everything about us.” He warned Jonathan to be careful. He advised him to take serious precautions. The trashing of Kathryn's apartment had just been a warning. They might come after him next. Jonathan assured Charge that he would be cautious. Charge hung up the phone only slightly less tense.

They continued their drive as before, rotating and resting in shifts. The little conversation they had been engaging in all but disappeared. Kathryn spent the hours she was awake thinking about everything that had happened over the past few months. Images flashed through her head—seeing Charge for the first time standing like Adonis in her doorway; Susan and Charge revealing that they were deviants while sitting at her kitchen table; picking Jonathan up from the airport in St. Louis; practicing her gifts; going out to LA; hanging out with Susan, Charge, and Jonathan night after night laughing, drinking, having fun; being introduced to the underground deviant scene; losing Charge; finding him again; losing everything in her apartment.