Emma
The darkness was absolutely perfect. Silken and feathery soft, caressing her temples and brushing across her forehead with a cool, gentle touch. Every velvety strand battled the remnants of a brutal migraine with subtle strength, easing the nausea, leaving room for blessed relief and rest. Behind her closed eyelids, the darkness was absolutely perfect.
Her mind drifted, seeking comfort and beauty within her own mind's eye. Feelings of serenity and peace and languid content would inevitably follow, and there would be no room left for her pain. She would release it on a wave of well-being and relish the ability to once again be able to smile.
An image floated across her dark haven, as she knew it would, and she watched with mild fascination, with idle curiosity as it completed itself. It transformed before her inner eye and became soaked in color, taking on vivid detail that both stunned and excited her. A sloping field, long grasses, the sharp image of a two story log cabin with unnaturally blue sky spilling out overhead. She glanced left, then right, the vastness of the meadow speeding her heart with awe. There was nothing to break the spread of rich grasses as it reached on toward infinity, sweeping and rippling and bending with stark clarity and color.
She turned her gaze skyward and found, surprised, that it held no sun. Nothing to create the natural glare that sometimes leeched color from the land beneath it. The effect was breathtaking. She inhaled slowly and savored the sweet, dry air as it slid across her face, slightly cool against her cheeks, as perfectly soft on her battered eyelids as the darkness before it. There was something utterly soothing and peaceful here, nestling itself deep within, timidly plucking at her soul as she considered the land through half-closed lids. She waited for stirrings of recollection.
Presently, however, she became aware that something was different. She felt completely at home here but she was certain all at once that this memory did not belong to her. She was a participant.
And there was no sound.
Slowly, her eyes fluttered open. For some inexplicable reason, this realization struck her as enchanting, and as she studied the area with greater scrutiny an amused, delighted smile tugged at her lips. The swaying meadow, pushed along by a gentle but steady breeze, did not rustle as dry grasses should. The air, in fact, did not whoosh as it glided past her ears.
It was unexplainable and utterly fascinating.
"I don't know you."
She spun, startled, automatically retreating in defense. Her eyes landed on the owner of that voice, and after a moment she gave a short, shaky laugh. A chuckle of relief and embarrassment. "You scared me." She breathed, but smiled at the young woman.
That earned her a mild frown. "I'm not sure who you are."
"My name's Emma. DeLauro. I thought I was alone." Her heartbeat was slowly returning to normal, allowing her to focus on other things. "I don't recognize this place, so it must belong to you."
"No," The young woman was actually an adolescent, maybe fifteen years old. Her expression was a mixture of blatant distrust and wariness, drawing her brows together in a way that did not seem to fit her face at all.
She stepped closer and tilted her head to one side, a primitive act of inspection that caused strands of long hair to fall across her jaw line. When she was no more than three feet away, her gaze swept up to pierce Emma's. Hot emotion swirled across her gray-green eyes; anger, impatience, frustration. And fear.
"I don't know this place. I don't know you." She said in an oddly toneless voice. The heavy atmosphere pressed in around her words and swallowed them, or popped them as a child pops a soap bubble. "This is all wrong."
"What's wrong? This place is wonderful and clean and fresh....What's your name?"
She wasn't looking at Emma anymore, but gazing around them with tight apprehension. Her body was visibly tense, as if poised on the brink of flight.
"What's your name?" Emma asked again. She moved slightly to put herself in the girls line of vision. The ploy seemed to work as she focused again on Emma's face, but she refused to relax. "Where are you from?"
"No where. I'm not from anyplace."
The response was automatic, giving Emma pause. There was something lurking behind the girl's hard, confrontational attitude--cause and effect of some kind--that made Emma uneasy. She chose her next words carefully.
"I'm telepathic," She said slowly. "I think you pulled me into your subconscious."
Her companion's expression softened in surprise, then slid fluidly into disbelief, eyes hardening. The display, however, seemed forced, as if she had trained herself to react accordingly, and when Emma's gaze became scrutinizing it melted away. Those twin orbs became hot once again with a wash of emotion, all at once smoldering beneath her fringe of lashes. Emma's breath rushed out on a gasp of alarm. A level of intense confusion was dwelling in those wide eyes, a swamp of pain and torment so profound, it was consuming her from the inside out.
"Do you need help?" Emma asked gently but firmly. "Tell me where you are. My friends and I can help you. We want to help you."
"Let me out of here!" The girl snapped suddenly, desperately, and tears sprang to Emma's eyes.
"I know what you're going through."
"You don't know anything!"
"Tell me where you are."
"Let me out!"
She was blurring around the edges, and Emma felt herself sinking back into the dark void she had once welcomed. She cursed it now, watching helplessly as the girl's expression, still visible behind a curtain of murky gray, shifted from aggravation to panic
"Wait!" She cried, but it was too late. The gloom folded in around her and pushed her back into it's silky depths, mercelessly ignorning her abrupt change of heart.
Emma frowned into the darkness. The loss of control had been unnerving and had left her off-balance, something that had never happened before during one of her sessions. She wasn't at all sure she liked the sensation.
Adam would call it a "learning experience".
She became aware of the dojo floor beneath her, it's cool surface sending a chill up her legs. Gradually, the darkness faded away and she found herself back in Sanctuary. Jesse was crouched beside her, gazing at her with obvious concern.
"Didn't mean to interrupt," He said as she turned a bleary eye on him. "Adam wants us to check one of the safe houses. There's been a break-in."
"What?" Concentrating on the here-and-now was surprisingly difficult. Jesse's boyish face swam in and out of focus.
He reached out to touch her arm. "You OK?"
"I don't think so. Help me up."
"Maybe I should call Adam. You're as white as a sheet, Emma."
"Just help me up." She retorted, but when he did as she asked, her knees buckled under her.
His voice sounded very far away as he called for their mentor, as if there were a thick wall separating them instead of mere inches. She gripped his jacket and rode out a wave of dizziness, breathing hard, jaw clenched. A sharp pricking had begun behind her left ear and was now throbbing with her pulse, building in vigor.
She sank to her knees. White hot sparks shot across her vision. The pain behind her ear became a fiery poker embedding itself in her skull, twisting and coiling until she heard herself crying out. Darkness loomed again, but malevolent, threatening this time. She tipped forward and scraped her palms against the floor, then crumpled completely beneath the weight of the migraine, escaping by succumbing.
Jack
Contrary to popular belief--that of transients and insanity walking hand-in-hand--Jack Gordan was not crazy. True, most street dwellers fit that mold, and true, Jack was unusually eccentric with his comings and goings, but he knew what day it was and he knew where he was at all times. He knew his old address--the one he had had before he lost his citizen status-- and how to follow the basic mannerisms of the city that had rejected him. He did not talk to himself or walk around aimlessly or fall prey to boughts of paranoia, and he knew the value of shelter and hot food.
He still endured searing anger, experienced moments of powerful and passionate hatred for those in position to take and never give back. People who regarded him with disgust and told him with their fleeting glances that he probably deserved his current situation. After ten years of rummaging and lurking and suffering all of life's relentless "gifts," Jack Gordan was still capable of remembering a time of self-respect, and he embraced these memories with an iron grip because they cleared his mind and made him strong.
He was not crazy because loathing of his fellow man kept him sane. He blamed himself for his devastating downfall and for his current situation, took full responsibility for his own actions, but that didn't save him from his resentment.
He was approached by a woman late-evening, Tuesday, and because he had managed to keep all of his marbles firmly in place, the wrongness of the situation appealed to his sense of irony: women did not approach homeless men, especially not at night. He felt curiosity rather than agitation as he descreetly tracked her progress down the narrow alley.
She was incredibly beautiful. Though he refused to acknowledge her as she came to a stop in front of him, greeting him as if they were old friends, he instantly took note of her exotic features and slender build.
"Hey, there," She said in a low, pleasant voice. There was no one else around. He had been in the middle of mending a wool scarf with discarded shoelaces, but had not been so engrossed in the job that he had not heard her drawing near. Nonetheless, she walked with unusual stealth.
When he kept his head down and mouth shut, she squatted in front of him. He glanced at her shoes, dark brown boots almost entirely covered by dark blue jeans. Expensive boots. A ripple of irritation traveled up his spine.
"I need some information." She tried again, and against his will, his gaze flittered up to her face. Her eyes were a rich brown, dark, an odd contrast to her mane of blonde hair. There was something warm in her expression, but he forced himself to look away before he was able to identify the emotion. "A few others told me you were the one to talk to. They didn't seem like the brightest bulbs in the case, but they seemed to agree on you so I thought I'd give it a try."
The muscles in his jaw clenched. He had a fairly good idea what this was going to be about, and though he'd been waiting for this day for nearly a month, the fact that it was here made him vaguely nausious.
And the day had started off so ordinary.
He shifted abruptly to his knees, hoping to catch her off guard and gain an advantage. She didn't even flinch. His gaze had found hers again, and though some citizens considered his type the lowest of the low, she had no trouble holding it.
"Nothin' I know would be of any use to you." He growled roughly, hoping she would take the hint.
A slow grin slid across her lips. "I knew you weren't crazy." She said, choosing to ignore his statement. Amusement was evident in her tone. "And I have to tell you, you're a rarity."
He didn't respond, wishing for a graceful way out of the situation, knowing that he didn't have it in him to lie. His face always gave him away.
Her smile didn't falter, but he thought he saw something flicker in her eyes. Pity, maybe, but he didn't think so. Compassion would have fit her face better than sympathy, and he suspected she was more accustomed to expressions of that type anyway. He wondered if she knew she was a rarity as well.
"It took me a while to find you," She continued. "So I hope what you can tell me will be worth while. How well do you know the streets?"
"Better than most." He said carefully.
"And the people who live there?"
"Better than most."
She studied his face, lips pursed. After a moment, she seemed to come to a decision. "Look. Whether or not I like what you say, I'll buy you dinner."
"Why would you do that?"
"Because you need it. But if what you tell me is of any use, I'll take you back to where I work and let you use the shower."
"Sounds like a pity bribe to me," He snapped, unhappy with where this was going. Again contrary to the public opinion, he worked for what he had and tried very hard not to accept handouts. Her next words, however, almost had him laughing, something he hadn't done in over ten years.
"I'm offering you a deal," She said with a sly smile. "And I'm offering you this particular deal because you smell really, really bad."
They eyed each other for a moment, his expression considering and hers patient, until finally he sat back against the wall of the alley and set the scarf aside.
"OK, then." He said on a sigh, resigned, praying this would turn out better or different than he suspected it would.
She smiled again. "OK. A friend of mine met a young girl a few days ago. My friend has reason to believe this girl runs the streets. We need to find out who she is--"
"What makes your friend think this girl is a street rat?" He interrupted.
"Emma's seen that type--your type--before. She fit the bill: right attitude, right look, and she said she wasn't from anywhere. It isn't concrete, but when Emma gets a hunch she's usually right on the money."
Jack nodded and pretended to consider what she had told him, stalling because the conversation was going exactly where he didn't want it to go. Finally, when he knew he couldn't drag out the silence any further, he said: "How old does your friend think this girl is?"
"Early-teens. Very dark hair, green eyes, thin--"
He snorted, despite himself. "Lady, we're all thin out here. What else?"
"Average height, a scar next to her eye--"
He glanced up sharply, stomach lurching, uneasiness touching his neck with cool fingers. "A scar?" That small, tell-tale scar, as good at identifying that girl as her own fingerprints.
"I can tell by your tone that you know who I'm talking about."
He believed it and cursed his expressive face. Tone and facial expressions revealed all to someone who knew what to look for, and she seemed to know what to look for. He wondered briefly where she had come from, what kind of work she did.
He knew for certain, though, that he was backing himself into a corner. He had seen it coming the moment that woman smiled her knowing smile.
He forced himself to meet her compelling stare and was dismayed to find it completely unreadable. "Whatcha gonna do when you find this girl?" He asked.
"Help her if we can," She arched an eyebrow and regarded him in a way that made him very uncomfortable, as if she could dig beneath his evasiveness and see the truth, and these questions were just a formality. "You need to tell me what you know. My friend thinks this girl is in serious trouble. Do you know her name? Or where she stays? Who she associates with?" Her gaze remained incredibly intense, but as she spoke her brow furrowed in what appeared to be concern. That threw him completely, and rather than allieving his uneasiness it made it more potent. He had no idea who she was and had no hope of figuring her out, especially when she kept changing her tactics.
He fumbled for the right expression.
"If you have any information, and it's legit--" She added, tossing him a look of warning. "Then I'll get you a new pair of pants to go with that shower."
"Could use a coat." He said without thinking. Guilt reared it's ugly, pitted head, and he was reminded that the longer he survived on the streets, the more screwed up his priorities became. You never gave something for nothing out here, not if someone else's life depended on it. Maybe if yours depended on it, but never someone else's.
When had he joined that particular stereotype?
"Fine. A coat it is. What's her name."
His teeth found lip and bit in hard while he considered how much to reveal. He had to give her something now, or she would never go away. Evasiveness wasn't working, so he would deal in half-truths and keep certain other factors out of the conversation completely. It might work. "Goes by Press." He said, watching her face carefully. "What's your name?"
"Shalimar Fox," She was distracted, though. She'd rocked back on her heels and had a thoughtful frown on her face, as if she were digesting what he had told her. He relaxed a bit.
"Good name for you. Fits." He murmured. She didn't respond to that, save for a small smile. "I'm Jack."
"Mmm. Is there anything else you can tell me, Jack? Anything at all?" She asked, her warm eyes once again searching his face, finding his eyes and locking into place. He reached for his scarf to avoid meeting her gaze and hoped he hadn't given himself away when he stiffened.
"Nope." He lied. "Never seen her myself. Just heard about her. She's new to the streets." Her stare was burning a hole through him.
"All right." She finally replied. "Where will you be tomorrow? Say five?"
"Dunno."
"Meet me here, then."
"Why?" He asked suspiciously, having forgotten about their agreement. Or maybe having decided he didn't deserve any kindness when he really hadn't held up his end at all.
"I'll take you for that shower, then we'll go eat. That was our deal. I need some time to set it up," She reached for her own scarf, a sturdy beige one that would have wrapped around her a dozen times, and handed it to him. "For insurance. That's my favorite, so don't get it dirty and don't trade it off."
With that, she turned on her heels and started back the way she had come. Jack watched until she turned around the corner and out of sight, noting again the intriguingly light fall of her step. She covered ground fast enough, but her stride was unhurried, lengthy and arrogant.
He sniffed the scarf in his hands and caught her scent; spicy, warm. It fit, almost as well as her name. He folded the garment carefully, determined to protect it from the stench and filth of his home. She had been respectful and considerate. He would treat her property with the same courtesy.
Adam
Adam leaned against the doorframe, gazing in at Emma's sleeping form. Warm light filtered through the lampshade of the room's only lamp, tinting the area a deep caramel that did not disturb the bed's occupant. Three days had gone by, and most of that time she'd spent sleeping or eating.
He was worried.
Something had happened, and her uncharacteristic reaction to it only added fuel to his concern. The migraine was long since gone, but the experience had left her exhausted and utterly famished. Foreign circles of fatigue had formed under her eyes and she refused to do anything but search for that girl.
He'd sent Shalimar out to search the streets and Brennan out to search abandoned buildings, but the city was vast and complex. Jesse had taken up permanent residence in front of the computer, but so far nothing had turned up.
After the encounter, after Emma had slept for nearly twelve hours and had had a chance to describe the event, his anxiety had momentarily given way to excitement. He knew his team's abilities were constantly strengthening and expanding, and it made sense--theoretically, anyway-- that another telepath had linked with her. But he soon discovered that Emma didn't share his enthusiasm. This new lunge of her personal evolution disturbed her and was, in fact, making her miserable, something he didn't quite understand. Normally, she embraced the uknown, learned from it, challenged herself and others to face it with confidence. Of course, the physical aspects of this particular occurance where unlike anything they had ever encountered before, and the fact that Emma seemed to be suffering from them wasn't a good thing in his book.
Quietly, Adam backed out into the hall and slid the door closed. He had put himself in charge of monitoring her condition, and now that he was satisfied she would sleep for a while, he made his way back up to where Jesse sat.
"Anything?" He asked, though he knew the answer. If his student had found anything, he would have shouted long before now.
Jesse shook his head. "I feel like we're running in circles, Adam. I've tried every trick in the book," He sighed with frustration. Adam felt for the young man; this was the first time his beloved computer had let him down. "She's not in the new mutant database and she wasn't reported missing. I don't know where else to look without a name of some kind."
"Tracking down someone with no home, no ties, nothing to link them to society isn't the easiest thing in the world." Adam warned, ignoring the impatient look Jesse shot him. He knew the young man hated excuses, almost as much as he hated failure itself. But in Adam's experience, this particular excuse rang true. "This is why a few of Eckhart's new mutants resorted to homelessness, Jesse. It was almost impossible to track them down."
"I'm beginning to see why," Jesse replied wryly.
"And if she's a child, she wouldn't be in my database, anyway. One or both of her parents, maybe, but without a name..." He trailed off.
"Adam, I think I've got something," Both men glanced up at the sound of Shalimar's voice, transmitted from her com-ring through the intercom above them. Jesse shifted in his chair.
"Go ahead," Adam urged.
"I think the girl's name is Press. Didn't get a last name, and I got the feeling he was holding something back. I think I rattled him. I want to see what he does next, so I'm gonna follow him for a little while."
Jesse began typing almost immediately, a scowl of concentration marring his brow. "I'll run that name. It should narrow things down somewhat, give us something to go on anyway."
"Once we have a concrete list, Emma can go through it and check ID photos." Adam added. It wasn't a pointing finger, but it was better than nothing.
"How is Emma?" Shalimar asked.
Adam crossed his arms over his chest, the 'fatherly' gesture that his team was constantly teasing him about. "This new lead will help, I think. Who's your source, by the way?" When Shalimar answered, there was a tremor of laughter beneath her words.
"You'll meet him tomorrow, guys. I promised him Jesse's new coat," She chuckled outright. Before Jesse could do more than frown, though, she signed out. "Let me know if anything turns up."
Jesse glanced behind him at his mentor and the frown deepened as he opened his mouth to comment.
The computer beeped, however, drawing his attention. The search was complete. Adam's smile faded as he leaned over Jesse to examine the results, eyebrows drawn together in concentration. Surprisingly, there were only six people in the city with the name 'Press' or a varience of it. And only one was a child.
"Preston Sikes," He read. "She has the right name, and she might fit Emma's description."
The photo was a year old, but the child gazing back at them was on the brink of adolescence. She wore an arrogant expression that seemed out of place on her sweet, pixie features, a haughty grin pulling at only one corner of her mouth. Her eyes were a cloudy gray-green, mysterious, michievious, nearly hidden by half-lowered lids and a spray of thick, dark lashes.
Proud, confident, brazenly defiant. Adam's smile slid back into place.
"Looks like someone who knew what she wanted and knew how to get it," Jesse observed.
"At least maybe now we know who we're looking for," Adam turned to leave. "Find out everything you can about her; family, last known address--"
"Yada yada yada..."
"I'm going to see Emma. She'll want to know what we've turned up." And they needed confirmation that this girl was, in fact, the mystery child from Emma's vision.
He retraced his steps from a few minutes before and slid back the screen. Emma was awake.
"You've found something," She said in a voice so weak, Adam's optimistic mood immediately vanished. Despite the hours of rest and nearly twice the amount of food as normal, she didn't seem to be getting any better.
"How are you feeling?"
She straightened against the pillows, an act that left her breathless. Her face was disconcertingly pale in the soft light and hollows had formed beneath her cheekbones, creating shadows where none had existed before.
Adam moved to sit beside her. "You look thinner, Emma."
"What did you find?"
A sigh escaped before he could stop it. "You know, I expect this kind of self-destructive behavior from Shalimar. But you've always had both feet firmly planted. And you've always known when to back off--"
"Whatever happened to me back there is still happening," She interrupted bluntly. "I can feel myself wasting away....Something is really wrong here. I'm bruising, too, Adam," He glanced at her sharply, inspecting the harsh marks along her arms while his head whirled with possibilities. "I think the only way to stop whatever's happening is to find that girl and fix whatever she needs us to fix."
"I agree," He said soothingly, several realizations dawning at once. That theory made perfect sense and he was mildly embarrassed that he hadn't thought of it sooner. "I think the connection you established with her was empathic as well as telepathic, and that aspect wasn't severed when she backed out. Finding her is our first step, and we have a lead."
A small sob of despair ripped from Emma's throat. "I feel like I'm dying," She whimpered.
Adam's expression became grave. "Then she may be dying, too."
Shalimar
It didn't take long to hit pay dirt.
She followed several hundred feet behind him as he scurried along the darkened alleys, using her enhanced night vision to keep tabs and occasionally taking to the rooftops when she lost sight of him completely. He traveled with the swiftness of someone who knew his way around and cast nervous glances over his shoulder every few minutes, as if he had somehow discovered that she was following him. She was descreet, however, and less than twenty minutes after they had begun the erratic journey through the city's dank underbelly he stopped in front of an old, dangerously condemned building. With one last sweep of the shadowy alley he'd just come down, he pulled open the sturdy door in front of him and slipped inside. Across the alley, Shalimar swung herself over the railing of a fire escape and landed softly behind a trio of dumpsters, crouching as she surveyed the scene and debated her next move. Her first impulse was to follow him inside and strong arm him, but that was always her first impulse and more often than not it got her into trouble.
Slowly, she emerged from her hiding spot and crept toward the alley entrance. She had just decided that she had allowed enough time for caution when Jack reappeared, flinging the door aside and stumbling out into the darkness, nearly colliding with her in his rush. She quickly moved to avoid him.
"Jack?" He peered at her from under his mop of tangled hair, dark eyes slightly unfocused, chest heaving. Recognition dawned after a moment, evident from the fierce frown that puckered his face. "Are you OK?" She asked.
"What the hell did you do with her?!" He bellowed, then came after her without giving her a chance to absorb the question, let alone reply. "Who the hell are you?! You come asking questions and then follow me! And now--"
She ducked a wild punch, stunned and more than mildly confused by the level of his fury. He wasn't a big man, but adrenaline did some crazy things to crazed people, and she wasn't about to test the limits of that particular theory. He swung again, missed, and she used his momentum to trip him and send him sprawling into the filth covering the alley floor.
"Calm down." She commanded firmly. "I don't know what you're yelling about--"
"You took her!"
"Took who? The girl? Was she in this building?"
He rolled and sprang to his feet, ready for another round. "You took her!"
"I was with you, Jack." She pointed out. "I was talking to you that whole time. Why would I do that if I already knew where she was? And when would I have time--"
"I don't know! It's some kind of twisted game with you, or something! How do I know?!"
"So she's been with you? Hiding here with you?"
He lunged, as if that last offhanded query had triggered something inside, had pushed his rage past the boiling point. An animalistic shriek tore from his throat as he charged, fingers curling in front of him, eyes flashing even as they narrowed to slits. He was beyond reasoning now, past the point of no return.
She gripped his wrists and flung both herself and Jack backward, arching her back and planting one foot in his stomach for leverage. He sailed over her and landed with a muffled thud a few feet from her head. She rolled to her feet and watched as he recovered, racking her brain for the best way to knock him out without hurting him. A straight shot to the temple seemed like the best option, so when he rushed her again, she slid to one side and gripped his outstretched arm at the wrist, then finished the absurd battle with a wide, strong round-house. He crumpled and she took a moment to collect herself, breathing a chuckle of amazement at the entire situation.
"What was that?" She demanded of the night, pushing her hair back from her face, her gaze lingering on his prone form as she attempted to sort it all out. After a moment of debating with herself, she hailed Adam.
"What happened?" He asked immediately.
She nudged the transient with the toe of her boot, one eyebrow arching. "He attacked me."
"What? Are you all right?"
"Yeah. From what I could gather--in between war cries, that is--that girl was staying with him and now she's gone. Some kind of coincidence, huh? I don't know when this guy'll come around so I'll just bring him in now. We can question him later."
"I hope he knows something more than he can tell us."
"Why? Bad news? "
"I sent Brennan out to check the Sikes' last known address and it looks like the house is being rented out to another family. I tracked down the landlord and he told me the Sikes left almost a year ago, and that their forwarding address is a PO Box."
"Dead end."
"Yep. And I just got off the phone with the principal of the local high school, and he informed me that Tom Sikes withdrew his daughter to enroll her in a private school, but he didn't say which one."
"So another dead end, unless we check every private school in the city." Shalimar chewed on this information, her mind playing out several scenerios. "So they just left. Disappeared." She muttered. "Maybe her entire family was homeless after that."
"Maybe. But why leave in the first place?"
A soft rustling drew her attention to the darkness beyond the door, beyond the sputtering street lamp and it's circle of insufficient amber light. Someone was treading lightly, approaching with caution.
"I hear you discussin' that girl! We don't want no trouble!" A voice called out, a man's voice that echoed eerily off the expanse of brick spreading out on both sides of her. "Get goin'! Leave him be!"
"I'll get back to you, Adam." She murmured into her com-link, then waited patiently, tensely as the man skirted the pool of light.
"Didn't you hear me, woman? We've had enough trouble 'round here!" He snapped.
Again, she refrained from answering him. Instead, she shifted her view of the darkness and found herself gazing at another homeless man, taking in his shabby clothing and longish hair through the green-tinted view of her night-vision. He stepped closer and she shifted back.
"I don't want to cause you trouble, sir. He attacked me." She assured him. "Is he a friend of yours? Do you know him?"
"I told him the next time I wasn't gonna stand for it! That girl was nuthin' but trouble from the first and I told him so!" He stopped several feet from her and eyed Jack with marked distaste. "I told him the next time someone comes sniffin' 'round here, some heads was gonna roll! I meant it, too, and that's just what I done!"
"You told someone she was staying here with him?"
"Yep. I warned him. After that business with them lowlifes--"
"What lowlifes?"
"A bunch of men come messin' things up 'round here, beatin' us up, demandin' things and treatin' us like we was dirt. Lookin' for that girl. I told Jack that I was gonna give her up the next time, 'cause I don't need no trouble like that. None of us do." His frown was barely visible under a long matted beard and a thick layer of dirt, but he began to gesture wildly as he warmed to his subject. "Then you come 'round askin' all sorts of questions! 'Bout that girl no less, and I just couldn't take it no more! I went right to that man's house and tol' him up front where she was stayin'! That girl don' belong with us anyhow! She drug all her problems here and he just went on protectin' her anyway! I warned him--"
"Did the man come and get her here?"
"You better believe it! He just strolled in with all his friends and I stayed way out of the way and then I jus' waited here till Jack showed up 'cause I wanted to be the first to tell him that them head's was finally rollin'!"
"Do you know if that man was her father?"
"Dunno." He skirted her, watching her warily as he did. When he was standing directly over Jack, he gazed down into his slack face and whistled. "Damn! Whatja do to him? He's out cold!"
"Do you remember where the man lived?"
"He's bleedin'. Why'dja have to knock him out? I wanted a chance to tell him 'fore you hauled him off!"
"Where did that man live? What part of town?"
"I saw the whole fight and you really knocked him a good one--"
"That girl is in serious trouble," She interrupted, her voice deepening to a growl as her patience reached its limit. She took a few steps toward him, head lowered slightly, predator in an instant. "I'm going to ask you one more time. Where did that man live?"
He rocked back on his heels, wary expression intensifying as he glanced from her to Jack and back again. A bright pink tongue flickered out from beneath his ratty beard and swept over the puffy expanse of his lower lip, leaving a glistening trail that shimmered unnaturally in the sparse lighting. Finally, calmly, he shrugged, sinking back into the guarded persona that had probably saved his life more than once. "Address he gave is over on Oakwood. Number 536, the house with the huge tree out front. Didn't give a phone number. Guess 'cause he figured none of us had a phone." He began to back up, hands coming up in a gesture of surrender. "Look, I saw what you did to him, but I can forget I ever did. Like I said, we don't need no trouble."
She watched him go until he reached the entrance to another alley and disappeared, then she hailed Adam again.
"We may have caught a break. Press was staying with my guy, but someone reported that fact to a man who'd been looking for her earlier, a man who may or may not have been her father. The man came and got her with a few other men in his hip pocket. Some kind of cult maybe? I got an address."
"Good. I'll send Brennan out to back you up."
She relayed the information, then gave him the name of the street perpendicular to the alley they were in. "Send an ambulance from the nearest hospital to pick him up. That should keep him where we can find him for a few hours. And don't tell them he's homeless." With one last glance over her shoulder, she began jogging back the way she had come, back toward the street where she had left her bike.
Emma
Emma was back in the meadow, gazing out over wild grasses that were shorter, thinner, paler than before. The curious silence pressed in around her once again, but this time it was accompanied by a stillness that completed the surreal effect; the land was trodden with an unnatural calm, as if the air were as thick as molassis and there was simply not enough energy in this universe to move it. The sky was brittle and pasty, cut short at the horizon in a razor sharp line, creating the impression of an enclosed space despite the image of vastness. When she turned, she saw that the cabin behind her lacked 3-dimensional substance. The curious delight she had once experienced in this place was long gone, roughly cast aside by its diluted, desolate state and by an awareness of the circumstances surrounding its existance. She felt urgency now, as if she were trapped in a painting, had lost all sense of reality and couldn't find her way out again.
"You brought me here, Preston Sikes!" She called out, and her voice sounded almost normal, drifting out into the syrupy atmosphere and sticking there. "You turned my life upside down and made me very sick. This needs to end."
The girl rippled into view, congealing from the very substance that had caught and held Emma's words. Like her failing illusion, she was thinner and noticeably weaker, battered, suffering silently as she tipped her chin and gazed expectantly at the woman who had invaded her privacy twice now. Her hair was a dark, limp, greasy curtain, hiding shoulders that sagged and cheeks that had hollowed down to the bone. She wore the same baggy clothing, but her feet were bare and dirty.
Her expression was carefully neutral.
"You are Preston Sikes, aren't you?" Emma asked slowly, deciding that the last thing this girl needed was harsh ultimatums. Her instincts the first time around were right on track; Preston needed help. "You have telepathic abilities. It's an amazing gift, and no matter what anyone has told you, you're not a freak. My friends and I want to help."
"How can you help me when you're in my head?"
"I'm not. Well, I am, sort of, but I'm real and if I can find you than I can help you."
The girl's head rolled gently to one side, and she suddenly looked exhausted, vulnerable, ready to give up the ghost. "You're real? I thought I made you up. How can you be real?"
"I told you the first time we met. I'm telepathic, too," Emma replied, tamping down firmly on her impatience. "This scene is from you, your imagination, and you reached out to me the first time when I was meditating. This time, I must have been asleep, and I'm weak and my defenses are down. Tell me where you are and I'll come get you."
"No one can help me. I'm stuck."
"I can help you. My friends can help you. Where are you right now?"
"In a basement. I can hear the water in the pipes."
Disgust welled in Emma's throat, but she held that emotion at bay as well. The girls eyelids fluttered. "Do you know what street?"
"No. We move alot. I've never seen this place before."
"What does the house look like?"
"Dunno. It's small and kinda dirty and stinks like mold or something. I know why he put me here. It's because I ran away and he needs me."
"What about on the outside?"
"Green with a big window out front. A little porch with a screen door and a railing. What was your name?"
"Emma."
"I'm so tired. I just wanna sleep now."
Emma steeled herself, panic sliding through her like hot oil and hardening against her ribcage. Time was running out. "I really want to help you, Preston, but I need more from you. Who else is in the house?"
"Just Dad and his new friends. They're creepy, but Dad says they put food on the table and clothes on my back. I just wish I didn't have to perform for them, like some circus freak."
"What about your mom?"
"She's coming back for me," The girl snapped suddenly, color flooding her cheeks. Her mother was obviously a sore point. "She only left because he threatened to kill her. She was special, too, just like me but not as strong."
Her mother was a new mutant. "Where did she go?"
"I don't know. She left a few months ago, but only because he was hitting her all the time. It was because of me, because he thought she didn't know my 'potential.' Whatever that means. He wouldn't let me go because he said I was too valuable. But she promised she would come back for me. I was going to wait with Jack, but then he found me."
"What happens to you when you aren't here?" Emma asked, because she had to know.
Preston shrugged weakly, the fight draining out of her once again. "I'm alone, mostly. Then dad comes and yells alot and hits me with things. Or his friends come over and make me do things with my mind."
"Like what?"
"Like move things in the air. I get so tire when they make me do that. I'm really tired now." She lowered her head, sighing, so thin and worn out that just the effort of talking was making her tremble. "He wasn't like this before. Mom was around and he used to leave us alone, but then..." She trailed off, blinking heavily, looking very young and helpless. "Are you coming to get me now? I think I might be dying."
Emma was back in her room, staring at the shadowy ceiling rather than miles of open field, wondering just when she'd been shoved from Preston's dream world. Presently, she became aware of a distant thumping behind her ear, and a sickness washed over her as she realized what that meant. The rhythmic pounding synthesized itself with her pulse, and all she could do was wait.
It began abruptly, with little more warning than that.
She rolled to one side, palms pressed weakly against her ears in a desperate attempt to block out the sound that suddenly begun assaulting her: high-pitched squealing, like the whistle of a tea pot amplified a hundred times over, piercing her skull and squeezing her temples in a vice-grip, relentless.
She cried out, sobbed, wished for an end. Any end. Her body curled in on itself, muscles clenching so tightly that afterward she would be sore for weeks. She called for Adam, but couldn't be sure if he heard her because she couldn't even hear herself. Darkness swirled in, slick, covering her like an oily cloak but failing as a barrier to that horrible, earsplitting noise; failing as a haven.
Her hands worked to drive out the blistering agony with sheer force, but there was no strength left in her arms, not even to save her own sanity. There was only impotent suffering.
She rolled further and buried her face in the soft, damp sheets, pressing her forehead as deep as the mattress would allow, trying desperately to find a moment of respite. Never before had she experienced pain so sharp and crippling, pain so severe that it raked across the backs of her eyes and tore at her nerve endings, demanding, a lifeform clawing its way through her brain and ripping it apart from the inside out.
She whimpered helplessly and held herself absolutely motionless, waiting for the dark void to complete itself.
Shalimar
Shalimar scanned the property from across the street, waiting for word from Brennan. The entire block was dark, deserted, a setting designed for practicing bizarre rituals and performing other, more illegal acts without attracting attention. And the shack itself, slumped smack in the middle of a small rectangle of dead yard, leaning precariously to one side and missing half it's roof, looked like it had been taken directly from some B-rated horror movie. A massive overgrown oak lumbered off to one side, obscurring half of a large picture window, it's thick, bare branches creeping high into the sky to complete the image.
She surpressed a shudder and hoped that no child was suffering within its walls.
"Shalimar." She glanced around, expecting Brennan. The voice, however, was coming from her com-link. "Emma's had another episode with the girl."
"Is she OK?"
"She's sleeping now, but I think she'll be fine. Brennan's a few minutes away."
"Did Emma find out anything useful?"
"A few things. The mother's a new mutant but no longer in the picture. She ran off a few months ago, which seems to be a few months after her daughter began exhibiting mutant behavior. Apparently the father wanted to use the girl's powers for financial reasons and the mother was against it."
"Good."
"After Mrs. Sikes left, Mr. Sikes began moving him and his daughter around, nonstop, never letting anyone know where they were going. He was and probably still is using her to impress a group of followers, who we know virtually nothing about. She ran away a little while ago and was waiting for her mother, during which time it appears she was staying with your friend Jack."
"The guy who attacked me. Not so much a friend anymore." She cast a lingering glance behind her, searching the area for signs of Brennan. Impatience had taken root the moment she'd arrived and was now in full bloom. "So her dad found her after that guy turned her in...after I started sniffing around. Talk about bad luck. Is there any way to track down the mother?"
"Jesse and I are working on it."
"Good. I'm gonna need somewhere to take Preston when I break her out of there. I'm going in."
"Wait for Brennan."
"He'll know where I am."
She ignored Adams protests and loped toward the property. A light burned softly in one window, but the others--including the mammoth picture window--were threateningly dark, concealing anyone or anything that may have been on the other side. A quick scan eased her mind; there was no one lurking behind those blackened windows, no one watching her progress across the front yard.
She skirted the skeleton of a neglected bush and pressed herself up against the rough exterior of the house, the lighted window directly to her right. Stooping so that she could just see over the bottom ledge, she surveyed the scene inside and took a head count. Four men and two women, lounging in mismatched furnature with beers in hand.
She heard Brennan sidle up beside her.
"It's about time. You almost missed the party." She drawled without looking at him.
He leaned over to glance above her, his hand coming to rest gently on her lower back. "I knew you wouldn't start without me."
"Don't be so sure about that."
He chuckled softly. "These the only ones here?"
"I don't know. There may be more in other rooms, or in the basement. We need to find out which room the girl's being held in before we make our move."
"Emma said she's being held in the basement. Can you see into any of the lower windows?"
"I haven't tried yet, but I doubt it. We should try to lure some of them outside without drawing attention."
He chuckled again, drawing her attention from the window. "You think that old 'pizza delivery' gag would work?"
"You're welcome to try it. But I'm not rescuing you when it doesn't work." His grin deepened, reaching his eyes and inviting her to join in on a joke that wasn't even that funny. She returned her gaze to the group inside, resisting the temptation. "One thing we know about them now: they've definately got a size advantage." Even the women sported muscles that defied the laws of nature. A rough crowd, that was for sure.
She rolled back against the house, forcing Brennan to move with her. To their left lay the porch, and within it's wealth of hazy shadows, the front door .
"There's no way." Brennan shook his head, then ran a hand through his short dark hair. "There's no way to draw out some of them without attracting the rest. It looks like a cult gathering in there."
"That's what I thought. And if that's what it is, they're likely to be skittish and paranoid." She considered then discarded possible courses of action, finally coming to the conclusion that simplicity was the way to go. "It would be better if we confronted them out here. We need to draw them all out."
"I'll create a diversion. When they come out, get in behind them. Surprise will work for us."
His "diversion" turned out to be an impressive bonfire a few feet from the window. Shalimar watched from around the corner of the porch, a smile touching her lips as she imagined the reactions likely to ensue.
The screen door clattered open, banging against the wall as several bodies piled out onto the porch. She crouched even lower, legs tense, waiting for the right moment to slide in behind them and cut off their access to the house. Brennan had moved to the edge of the lawn, but even across the distance it didn't take long for the first set of eyes to find him. He waited patiently as the owner let out a furious snarl and sprinted toward him.
The last muscle bound character leapt from the porch, and Shalimar lunged from her hiding place. As a matter of security they wouldn't use their abilities, which usually made things difficult and reduced the potential for interesting twists. For some odd reason, however, fair fights were infinitely more effective at raising her adrenaline level than power clad ones. It pumped through her veins now, red hot as she gripped the first target and spun him around.
Two others responded to his surprised yelp, and before long she was engaged in hand-to-hand combat with all three. They were strong, but clumsy and slow, with no martial arts training whatsoever and, ultimately, not much of a challenge. If a child's life hadn't been on the line, she would have used them to practice a few new moves she'd been working on, but as it was she finished them off as quickly as she could.
Brennan appeared a few seconds after she leveled the last of the three. "Well that was a huge disappointment." She commented. "All the hype of a cult and a missing girl, I was expecting something a little more..."
"Challenging?"
"Exciting."
"Anyone ever tell you you're an adrenaline junkie?"
"I tell myself that all the time." They moved toward the porch. "I didn't even break a sweat. I feel like hitting something just to relieve the frustration of not breaking a sweat. They failed miserably as a cult."
"There could be others inside. You still might get the fight you imagined."
"I don't know if I'm up to it now." She pulled open the screen and reached for the doorknob of the front door, staying carefully to one side as a precaution. With a screetch of protest from rusted hinges, the door swung open, revealing a narrow front hall and a view of what looked like a kitchen. "If I get attacked by another bumbling idiot, I'm going to have to seriously hurt someone." She whispered, stepping across the threshold onto a stained welcome mat.
She heard the whistle of a weapon before she saw it and threw herself backward, narrowly missing the streak of silver as a lead pipe embedded itself into the wall beside her. Large hands jerked it free, but by that time she had recovered sufficiently to bury her foot into the nearest body part: a stomach. Using Brennan, who had conveniently gripped her elbows to keep her from tumbling backwards, she lifted herself up and kicked the assailant across the face. His head snapped sideways and he collapsed ungracefully to the floor.
"Much better." She quipped, stepping over him and peeking around the corner. A wide entry way led into the room they had viewed earlier, empty now save for the ratty furnature and an old television. "Thanks for the lift."
"No problem." Brennan stopped to peer down at the weapon wielder, who had curled in on himself and was clutching at his stomach, struggling to draw in a full breath. "Is there anyone else here?" The man shook his head and tried to roll over, onto his knees. Brennan seized the collar of his shirt and tugged him all the way to his feet. "Are you lying to me?"
"No." He wheezed.
"Where's the girl?"
"Who are you?"
"That's not important to you right now." Brennan said slowly, in a tone he might use with a child. "What's important is that you tell me where the girl is."
"She's not here."
"You're lying to me." He turned the man so that he was facing Shalimar. "She wants to kill you. Your buddies didn't satisfy her, and I have no problem letting her have you." She smiled and stepped closer, drawing a dubious frown from him. "Now...where's the girl?"
"She wouldn't kill me." He countered, but his voice wavered.
"Where's the girl?"
"That would be murder. She don't look like no murderer."
Smile still firmly in place, Shalimar layed her hands on his shoulders and jerked him downward, plunging her knee into his solar plexis. He crumpled again, but his breath would be longer in returning after a blow like that.
"Where's the girl?" Weakly, without straightening, he lifted a finger toward the kitchen. Shalimar left him like that and headed in that direction, glancing back once to see Brennan locking the front door.
The door to the basement sat smack in the middle of the room, between the refridgerator and a stove that hadn't been functional in years. A shiny new paddlelock had been screwed in to place above the doorknob, but with a sound yank she ripped the entire device from the wall. The stairs beyond were wide and made of concrete, leading to a landing and then twisting back the other way, out of sight. She descended slowly, warily, senses on overload as she made her way down.
The basement itself was dreary and cold, with a concrete floor and half done walls with patches of insulation sticking out. An old fashioned bed sat in one corner.
Once she determined there was no one else down there, she crossed the room in four hurried strides. A tiny young girl sat up at the sound of her approach, her bony limbs visibly tense under clothing that might have fit her once. Long hair hung limply around her face, dark strands contrasting dramatically with skin so pale, it seemed to glow in the dimness.
Shalimar carefully hid her reaction, fighting back a rush of revultion at the sight of the starving, battered child. Human cruelty never ceased to amaze her, but this was the first time it had sickened her as well.
"Hey there, Sweetie." She said softly. "I'm a friend of Emma's. Do you remember Emma?"
"Yes. She told me you would be coming." She shifted to her knees, and the cuff around her wrist became visible. "What's your name?"
"Shalimar. And Brennan is upstairs waiting for us." Ironically, Preston had become so thin that the cuff slid across her palm with very little trouble. Shalimar tossed it aside and gathered Preston into her arms, deliberately ignoring the lightness of the child's mistreated body and focusing instead on the warmth that radiated from it. Her head came to rest against Shalimar's shoulder.
"Will I get to see Emma?" She asked, her voice muffled by Shalimar's jacket.
The older woman smiled. "You bet. She's at home, resting."
"She said I made her sick."
"She's just feeling what you're feeling, sweetheart. When you get better, she will, too."
"Good. Is my mom here?"
"Not yet. Don't worry, we'll find her."
The tiny form became dead weight, as if that reassurance was all she'd been waiting for to rest. Her breathing was heavy and even by the time the reached Brennan.
Epilogue
Emma leaned back against the porche, still weak despite days of bedrest and countless meals. The sun battled against the lenses of her sunglasses, causing her to squint and raise a hand to ward off the worst of the rays. Jesse stood to her right and Brennan to her left, solemn statues, guarding and protecting as they tended to do after one of their own had been injured. She didn't mind that tendency this time.
Preston Sikes stood with her back to them, gazing expectantly out at the bus station but leaning heavily into Emma, both hands clutching at the free arm Emma had casually draped over her shoulder. It had taken nearly forty-eight hours for her to come out of the coma, and the moment she did, Emma was there waiting with a smile. The connection between them had been instantaneous and strong, like siblings coming together for the first time after a long estrangement.
She asked about her mother, then about Jack, who had taken up the offer of a shower and meal, and later a job. Emma glanced over at him now, where he stood apart from the group and watched the crowd of people warily. The change in him had been amazing. His hair was still on the shaggy side, but it was clean and brushed, and he had shaved off his beard to reveal a generous mouth and full lips. In a fresh set of clothes he looked much younger than she had originally guessed: he now looked like a man in his early to mid-thirties. Shalimar's classic look of surprise had reduced them all to fits of laughter, and still brought on an amused smile when Emma thought back on it.
Later, almost as an afterthought, Preston had asked about her father. He was now in prison serving a sentence for child abuse and neglect, kept entertained by his devout followers. That information didn't seemed to surprise Preston, but it did make her sad.
She shifted now, as if reading Emma's train of thought, and gazed back at her with eyes that were, for once, clear and bright.
"I did love him." She said softly, and Emma brought her other hand down in a hug. "It wasn't my fault that he reacted the way he did, and he was wrong to do it, but I still loved him."
"Quit reading my mind." Emma scolded gently, teasingly.
"I can't help it."
Shalimar chuckled from the front seat of the car, and the quiet laughter seemed to ripple through the group. The day was cool and fresh, ripe with anticipation and hope for the future, alive and soft and maternal. Relief that things had turned out well had everyone giddy with contentment and eager to express themselves.
Another bus arrived, and seven pairs of eyes landed on the departure announcement. Preston tensed beneath Emma's grasp.
Mama.
They recognized Shay Sikes immediately; Preston had inherited more traits from her than from her father. She was the first to step from the interior and found them immediately, dropping her small bag in her rush to get to her daughter. Her eyes never left Preston's face.
Mama.
They met halfway and she dropped to her knees, folding Preston into her arms and cradling her like a baby, both mother and daughter laughing breathlessly as they rocked. When she stood again, she simply lifted Preston with her, the girl's long legs dangling rediculously close to the ground. Preston didn't seemed to mind; in fact, her arms tightened around her mother's neck and she buried her face in the white fabric of Shay's t-shirt.
Emma straightened away from the porche and smiled broadly, pushing back a wave of emotion.
"Thank you so much for this." Shay sighed. Tears had formed in her eyes, enhancing the rich, dark blue of her irises before spilling out over her flushed cheeks. "I can't ever repay you enough. These last four months have been the hardest of my life...I don't think I would have survived if I hadn't known..." She trailed off, suddenly looking horrified.
"It's OK, mama." Preston reassured her. "They know all of it."
"You knew this was going to happen, Mrs. Sikes?" Adam asked, coming around from the other side of the car. "Do you have premonitions?"
"Yes, sometimes. Mostly it was just a feeling that everything would turn out all right." She set her daughter down, but wrapped her arms across the girl's shoulders. "Please, call me Shay. You've made a friend for life, I hope you realize that."
Emma laughed. "And I hope that means you'll be staying in the city."
"Oh, yes."
Preston reached out and hugged her around the waist. "I'll call you all the time. I promise."
"That would be so great," She laughed again, untangling herself and holding the girl at arms length so she could look into her eyes. "But use the phone, OK? I don't think I would survive it if you did it your way."