Authors: Marjorie M. Liu
Within the Flames (16 page)
Lyssa glanced at Eddie, and a chill swept over her. His eyes were flat, dead, his mouth little more than a compressed line.
“That doesn’t sound like Betty or Nikola,” he said, and the barely controlled rage in his voice touched a part of her that was rough and primitive, and hungry for blood. “Is he her husband?”
“Used to be,” said Lyssa, feeling grim as death. “Tina left this piece of crap. His name’s Aaron Roacher. He likes mail-order brides who don’t speak English.”
And then it got worse.
“Don’t you touch her!” screamed Jimmy, and the rawness of his voice hit Lyssa’s heart like a hammer. “I’m not your son! I’m not!”
Tina let out wordless cry, and Aaron roared.
Lyssa closed the rest of the distance in one long stride, and slammed her right fist hard against the door. Again and again, raining down blows as inhuman strength flooded her arm. The old door shook and rattled. It hurt her hand, but she didn’t care. She was t cre.lowoo angry.
“
Hey!
” she roared. “
Open up!
”
Dead silence. Then heavy footsteps approached.
Eddie nudged Lyssa to the other side of the door. She tried to stay focused, but her heart was pounding, a golden haze falling down over her vision. Her teeth felt sharp. The low rumble of a growl filled the air, but it wasn’t until she noticed Eddie watching her that she realized it was coming from
her.
“You’re a wild woman,” he said.
“Just wait,” she muttered.
From the other side of the door, a man said, “Who’s there?”
“Police,” replied Eddie. “Someone reported a domestic disturbance.”
“Like hell. Nothing’s happening here.”
“Open the door, sir. Now.” He sounded cold, professional, and not one to be fucked with. Right then, he looked like it, too. Lean and dangerous, with shadows in his eyes.
I’m glad you’re here,
she thought.
It was quiet for a moment. Until, slowly, the locks turned. Lyssa steadied herself. Eddie got even more still—and then, in a blinding flash of movement—slammed his shoulder into the door just as it cracked open.
He crashed inside, and without missing a beat reached around the door and grabbed the other man—who was still trying to recover from being knocked back into the wall. Lyssa caught a glimpse of him—huge as a football player, with fatty muscles and a thick neck, and beady eyes that looked like blue peas tucked in slabs of white meat. He had a hundred pounds on Eddie, and a good six inches—but he wasn’t as fast.
Eddie lashed out with a solid right hook, snapping Aaron’s head back. He had no chance to recover before he was slammed again in the face, again and again—and it was so quiet except for the thud and crack of Eddie’s knuckles, and the other man’s pained grunts.
Vicious. Brutal. Beautiful.
Aaron recovered enough to take a swing, but Eddie easily dodged it and kicked out hard. His boot struck the big man in the groin with enough force to make a wet, squishy c we">A sound. The man went down on his knees.
“Nice,” Lyssa said, when what she really wanted to say was
Oh my God,
that was incredible.
Eddie wasn’t even breathing hard. “My pleasure.”
Lyssa heard a small squeak and found Jimmy standing behind them, staring. His bottom lip was split, and there was a bruise on his face. Huge eyes. At first, filled with fear . . . and then awe, as he looked at Eddie.
“Wow,” he breathed.
Eddie drew in a deep breath and went to the boy. “I’m sorry you had to see that.”
“I’m not. He deserved it.” Jimmy looked at Lyssa, and suddenly he was all kid again, vulnerable and upset. “My mom.”
My mom.
Just two words, saying a million different things.
She followed him into the living room and found Tina on her knees, trying to sweep broken glass onto a newspaper. A mug had been smashed on the floor, along with several framed photos of Jimmy.
Her arms were scratched and bleeding, and covered in bruises. No other visible signs of injuries, but Lyssa knew how deceptive that was. She was a small woman, birdlike, maybe only a hundred pounds dripping wet. No match for her husband. One blow from Aaron’s meat-hook fist would probably send her flying.
Tina didn’t look up when Lyssa walked in. Her small hands were a blur as she tried to clean the glass. Tears raced down her cheeks, but her face showed no grief, no pain. Just resolve.
Glass crunched beneath her boots as Lyssa crouched. “Tina.”
“Got to clean this,” she murmured. “I don’t want Jimmy to hurt himself.”
Lyssa stared. The fight between Eddie and Aaron had been quiet, yes . . . but it was almost as though she didn’t realize at all that something profound had changed in her home. Or that another person was standing there. Tina’s focus had only one note, one beat, one destination.
How many times had she been in fights like this, where her only survival mechanism was to clean up afterward, and sweep away the evidence as though it had never happened?
Worse, she had probably thought the abuse over, that she had escaped. She had let down her guard, only to have her peace and safety ripped from her.
Just like Lyssa.
Everyone runs from the pain,
she thought, watching Tina sweep up that glass as though her life depended on it.
I ran from mine.
This is how she runs from hers.
Jimmy stood beside his mother, watching her with terrible helplessness. “It’s okay,” he said, voice breaking a little. “I have shoes on.”
At the sound of his voice, Tina shuddered and bowed her head. Her hands stilled. Lyssa held her breath, afraid to make a sound.
“I’m sorry,” his mother whispered. “I’m so sorry, Jimmy. I didn’t know he would find us.”
The boy’s face crumpled. “It’s not your fault.”
Tina finally looked at him, and tears slid down her cheeks. Her eyes were hollow, filled with despair. “You’re hurt.”
Jimmy shook his head. “No.”
She reached for him but pulled back at the last moment, like she was afraid to touch her son. Instead, she looked at Lyssa, and her gaze sharpened, as though she was only
just
realizing that the two of them weren’t alone.
“How did you . . . ?” she began, and Lyssa said, “I happened to be in the neighborhood.”
Tina frowned and rubbed a shaking hand over her face. “If you’re here, Aaron must be gone. We need . . . we need to get out of here before he . . .”
“No,” Lyssa said. “Stay right there.”
Terrible, pained resolve filled her eyes. “You don’t understand. I won’t let Aaron hurt my son again. I can’t.”
“Mom,” Jimmy said, with the kind of restrained breathlessness that only a twelve-year-old boy could muster. “It’s okay. Lyssa’s friend knocked him out in the hall.”
Tina stared. “What?”
Lyssa jumped in. “It’s cin.em" okay, Tina. I promise.”
“Aaron’s still
here
?” She tried to stand, but her legs almost folded. Bits of glass were embedded in the knees of her slacks though she didn’t seem to notice. Her hands bled, too, and that bruise on her face had darkened.
“Ma’am,” said Eddie, behind them. Tina let out a small, startled gasp. Jimmy grabbed her hand tight in his.
Eddie stood just inside the living room, his face nothing but hard lines and shadows as his gaze roved from Lyssa to Tina with the same dangerous intensity that had drawn her to him in dreams.
Until, as if it was her imagination, all that power in his eyes faded away and was replaced with a deceptive softness that seemed calculated not to threaten.
“Ma’am,” he said again, with that old-fashioned, disarming politeness that he seemed to practice on every woman, despite her age. “Your husband will not bother you or your son, ever again.”
Tina blinked. “Is he dead?”
Eddie’s jaw flexed. “He’ll wish he was.”
“Wow,” said Jimmy.
Lyssa heard a faint whimper. The living room had been trashed, but she straightened a chair and found Icky hiding, his tail between his legs—and a little puddle beneath him.
“I don’t blame you,” she muttered, picking him up. Jimmy made a small sound and reached for the dog, which started wriggling with joy.
“He tried to squish him,” muttered the boy. “With his boot.”
“
I’ll
squish him,” said Eddie, and took Lyssa’s hand. “Excuse us for a moment.”
He pulled Lyssa across the living room, backing her against the wall. Over his shoulder, she watched Jimmy lead his mother to a chair, his every movement filled with tenderness. It broke her heart, especially when Tina gave the boy a tremendous hug that made him wriggle like the dog trapped between them.
Lyssa’s mother had hugged her like that, once upon a time.
“She needs a doctor,” she muttered.
“What she needs is to get out of this city,” Eddie replied in a quiet voice. “Right now. For your sake, and theirs.”
Lyssa exhaled slowly, and nodded. “You’re right. But they have no money.”
Eddie’s eyes softened. “My employer will take care of everything. But they can’t come back here. Forget the
Cruor Venator.
This place, this city, is poison for them. And so is that man.”
She glanced down the hall and found Aaron Roacher on the floor, tied with duct tape. His mouth had been covered—and his eyes, as well. He resembled a pig.
“That man deserves jail,” she whispered. “If they leave town . . .”
“Nothing will change. Did Tina ever testify against him? Did she go to the police?”
Lyssa hesitated. “Not that I know. She ran when he started hitting Jimmy, but technically, they’re still married. She may not even have a green card.”
Eddie rubbed his knuckles. “If you’re worried about him getting away with this, he won’t.”
“You’re not going to . . .”
“Kill him? No. I don’t need to.”
But
you
could
, whispered the dragon.
It would solve so many problems.
No one would miss him.
No one. But the idea filled her with revulsion.
Your life or his.
The lives of your friends . . . or his.
Or someone like him.
There are so many cruel people in this world to choose from, sister.
Kill just one of them . . . and you’ll save your friends, and yourself.
Eddie touched her arm. “You went away for a moment. I’m sorry if what I said bothered you.”
“It’s not what you said, but what I was thinking.” Lyssa glanced at Aaron, who was twitching now, trying to pull his arms loose. “It wasn’t good.”
“It doesn’t have to be good if there’s a good reason.”
Lyssa gave him a startled look, and he smiled. “Try to make Tina and Jimmy comfortable. I’m going to make a few calls.”
He turned away, but she grabbed his arm.
“Eddie,” she said, but words failed her. All she could do was kiss his cheek, her lips lingering on his warm skin.
“Thank you,” she whispered in his ear.
Maybe it was her imagination, but he seemed to sway a little.
“I’m your guy,” he said, and before she could respond to
that,
he pulled away and walked back down the hall to take care of Aaron Roacher.
T
he man reminded him of Matthew Swint.
Eddie dragged him into the kitchen on his belly, ignoring his grunts of pain and fear. Blind, powerless, stinking. Not so strong now. Not strong enough to beat his wife or hit his boy.
“I’ve had a lot of years to think about men like you,” said Eddie quietly, dumping Aaron by the stove. “About the things I’d like to do.”
The big man wore a mustard yellow polo shirt, wrinkled and dotted with blood that was not his.
Eddie pulled out a pocketknife and cut the man’s shirt open. Aaron writhed when the steel nicked his skin and made high-pitched whining sounds that would have been pitiful coming from a puppy—but that only made
him
sound pathetic. His cheeks bulged red over the duct tape.
“If you’re complaining already,” Eddie said, “you’re
really
not going to like what happens next.”
He pulled out his cell phone, but before he dialed Roland, he placed his bare hand on Aaron’s chest, above his heart. The man’s skin was clammy with sweat—and he had breasts, which made it especially disgusting.
Eddie’s hand began to heat. Slowly, at first. He wanted it slow.
He called Roland, his palm still pressed flat on Aaron’s heaving chest. fjus
“Fuck,” said his boss, when he answered the phone. “What the hell are you doing?”
“Maybe, just this once, you could turn off the clairvoyance?” Eddie suggested. “I don’t think you want to see this.”
His hand was much warmer now. Aaron squirmed.
Roland said, “It doesn’t work like that, and you know it. Who is that guy, and what the hell did he do to you?”
“Nothing. But he beats his wife and terrorizes his kid.”
“Ah,” said the other man. “Well. Happy trails, man. What do you need?”
Eddie smiled. He had problems with Roland, but the man had always been practical to a fault, and efficiently ruthless.
“One of those expensive private doctors who knows how to keep his mouth shut. Plus garbage bags, bleach, and a good saw.”
Aaron moaned.
Roland chuckled. “Now you’re just fucking with him.”
Eddie smiled. “The doctor comes first. We have a woman here who was beaten, and her son suffered some injuries, too. Cuts and bruises, mostly, but I want to make sure.”
“Okay.” Roland’s voice was soft. “And?”
“I’ll text you the details, but they need to leave this city in the next couple hours.”
When Aaron heard that, he strained against his bonds, making a strangled sound.
Eddie put down the phone and dug his fingers into the man’s throat until he started choking. Just a couple seconds, but it was enough to make him obedient again.
“Jesus,” Roland said, when Eddie picked up the phone. “You’re torturing that man.”
“When did you start caring about things like that?”
He was silent a moment. “Did you find the girl?”
ify">
“Yes,” he said, above the man’s sounds of pain. “The situation is complicated. The
Cruor Venator
has been following her and might be targeting acquaintances. That’s the second reason we need to move this boy and his mother. Lyssa is friends with them.”
“Consider it done. But kid . . . what you’re doing
now
—”
Eddie hung up on him.
What you’re doing now isn’t like you,
Roland would have said. But he didn’t know everything about Eddie.
He hadn’t seen Jimmy’s eyes when he looked at his mother.
Aaron screamed beneath the duct tape, twisting wildly on the floor. Eddie moved with him, though his hand stayed in the same spot—hot with fire, burning the man as flesh sizzled. Smoke rose from between his fingers, and the scent of cooked meat filled the air.
Finally, Eddie let go.
Leaving behind a brand over Aaron’s heart, shaped like his hand.
The man curled on his side, shaking uncontrollably—his sobs muffled, wracking. His pants were wet. Eddie smelled urine.
He waited until the man quieted just enough to hear him, then straddled his body, grabbing his left ear and wrenching up his head. He leaned close, heart thundering, anger making his words thick and hard in his throat.
“I want you to remember this moment for as long as you live,” he whispered. “You were helpless and blind, and you had no voice. And I laid my hand on your heart, where you would never forget me. Where you would never forget the pain I caused you, and the terror. Because that’s
your
gift to your son, and your wife. That’s your only legacy . . . what you did to them. Only it was a thousand times worse because you were supposed to love them.”
Eddie heard the rasp of feet coming down the hall. He tossed the remains of the polo shirt over Aaron’s chest and straightened as Jimmy entered the kitchen, clutching the small ugly dog to his chest.
Someone, probably Lyssa, had washed the boy’s face. The evidence of tears wasn’t entirely gone, and the bruises were turning purple . . . but there was a fr kherhedesh-scrubbed quality to Jimmy that made him look a little less miserable.
Jimmy held back near the kitchen door and looked at his father with big, pained eyes. Eddie crossed the room and stood in front of him.
“You look better,” he said. “No blood on your face.”
He peered around Eddie to look at the blubbering man. “What did you do to him?”
“We had a talk. I made sure he listened.” Eddie steered him from the kitchen. “Why don’t you show me your room?”
Jimmy’s room was about the size of a closest, with barely enough space for a skinny mattress that hugged the wall beneath the window and a stack of clear storage tubs that held his clothes. There were other boxes, but these held newspaper clippings gathered together in paper-clipped packets, and there were other stacks of newspapers on the floor, along with a couple robot action figures. Beside the bed was a cleared-away area for a bowl of water and dog food.
“What’s your friend’s name?” Eddie asked, gesturing to the little dog shaking in Jimmy’s arms.
“Icky,” he said, standing in his room and looking lost in his sweatshirt and big jeans, with his hair flopping over his face. “What’s your name?”
“Eddie.”
“Are you a police officer?”
“No. I’m a detective.”
Jimmy gave him an interested look. “Really? That’s what I want to be.” He pointed at the boxes full of clippings. “I’ve got cases. Murders, kidnappings, robberies . . .”
Eddie was impressed. “Have you solved any?”
“I’ve got suspects,” he said proudly, but some of his energy seemed to fade, and his shoulders hunched again. “What did you want to talk about?”
“I think you know.”
Jimmy sat on his bed and hugged the dog until he whimpered. “My dad found Mom at work. I dunno how. He made her come home, then they started fighting. He was . . . really mad.”
“How long had you been a kad . .way from him?”
“Almost two years. We had to move around a lot.”
Eddie knew what that meant. Homeless shelters, doorways, alleys. “How’d you meet Lyssa?”
Jimmy gave him a wary look. “Are you friends?”
“I’d like to think so, yes.”
“She saw you this morning, and it scared her. I thought she’d go away, and I’d never see her again.” Spoken with a hint of accusation, and fear.
Eddie looked him straight in the eyes. “I would never hurt Lyssa. I’m here to protect her.”
Jimmy studied him. “You’re a good puncher.”
“I’ve had to be,” he said. “And I’d punch a lot more people than that to keep Lyssa safe. And you, and your mom.”
He swallowed, and rubbed his eyes. “Lyssa found us. We were looking for a place to sleep, and she showed up and took us with her into this abandoned subway tunnel. My mom was scared at first. She thought we’d get killed, or something, but I liked Lyssa. She helped us live down there for six months, then my mom got a job and Lyssa found this place for us.”
Jimmy’s voice dropped, and he gave Eddie a pleading look. “Don’t tell my mom, but the lady who owns this place . . . she said Lyssa paid our first three months of rent.”
Eddie wasn’t surprised. “That’s sounds like something she would do.”
He looked worried. “I dunno how she afforded it. I don’t think she should be homeless when we’re not.”
You are a good kid.
“She won’t be homeless anymore, Jimmy. You and I need to talk about that, too. But first, your dad.”
The boy hunched over his squirming dog. “I don’t want to talk about him.”
Eddie sat down on the floor in front of him and held up his hand. “See these marks?”
The boy stared. “Were you born with them?”
“ k"#0ight="0em"I wish. They’re scars. When I was your age, I knew a man like your father. He hurt my sister very badly, and he did this to me, and other things.”
Jimmy stilled, and in that stillness there was a world of pain, and nightmare, and old wounds. It hurt Eddie to see. It hurt more than he imagined it could; because even after all these years, he was that kid . . . suffering . . . and it made him angry to think that Matthew Swint continued to have that much control over his life.
“You’re never going to see your father again after today,” Eddie told him. “Not unless you want to.”
“Okay,” whispered the boy.
“But you’re going to think about him a lot. I spent years thinking about the man who hurt my sister and me. I still think about him.”
“Is he alive?”
“Yes.”
“I’m sorry,” said Jimmy.
Eddie let out his breath, slowly. This wasn’t as easy as he’d thought it would be.
“So am I,” he replied. “But I want you to listen to something, okay? Every minute you spend thinking about that man is a minute wasted. He’s not worth your time. He’s not worth your resentment, or your fear, or any emotion at all. He’s too
stupid
for that. He could have had a son who loved him. He could have had a wife who loved him. He had
the both of you,
who any man with a brain in his head would be
proud
to call family, and he . . .”
“Threw us away,” murmured Jimmy, tears spilling down his cheeks.
Eddie rested his hand on the boy’s shoulder. The dog peered at him from the folds of the sweatshirt, and whined.
“Hey,” he said, hoarse. “Look at me.”
Jimmy raised his eyes, and it was like looking into the face of heartbreak. So much pain and grief. Eddie tried to corner his own emotions, but it was impossible.
“Jimmy,” he said. “There are a lot of good people in this world. You’re going to meet them, and they’re going to love you. And you’re going to grow up to be a good strong man . . . the kind of man who doesn’t throw people away. Okay?”
The boy nodded, face crumpling on a sob. Eddie swiped his own eyes and pulled him close for a hug.
“It’ll be fine,” he whispered raggedly. “I promise.”
“I’m scared,” he said in a small voice. “My mom’s going to be scared.”
“I know. But you’re going far away from here, for a new life.”
Jimmy leaned back, staring. “Where?”
“San Francisco. It’s a great city.”
“How do you know?”
“I live there.”
“What about . . . Liz?”
Eddie hesitated. Behind him, a low voice said, “Maybe I’ll be there, too.”
He found Lyssa leaning against the doorway. Her hair tumbled around her face, and her golden eyes were warm, thoughtful. A faint smile touched her mouth.
But deeper than that, he sensed sadness. He wondered how much she’d heard.
“Why do we have to go?” Jimmy asked. “Is it because of my dad?”
“No,” Eddie said.
“This is my fault,” Lyssa told him, walking into the room and sitting on the edge of the mattress. “Remember this morning, how crazy I acted? Well, you were right. There’s a good reason. People who want to hurt me.”
“But not him.” Jimmy glanced at Eddie. So did Lyssa, and the look she gave him shot heat from his heart to his groin.
“No,” she said, very softly. “Not him.”
“Then . . . why?”
“Well . . .” Lyssa hesitated. “I’m part of a . . . Witness Protection Program.”
Eddie bit the inside of his knsiht="0em">cheek. She frowned at him, and he had to look away fast before he blew it.
“Wow.” Jimmy sounded breathless. “What happened?”
“I saw something involving a . . . a Bolivian drug cartel. And now they’ve found me. The problem is, they may know we’re friends.”
The boy bounced a little, and the dog groaned. “They could try to use my mom and me to get at you.”
“You’ve got it. I made an arrangement with the Feds, and Eddie is helping.”
