Jazz did her best to appear stoic as Greg guided her out of the elevator toward the apartment. She was grateful that it had been his suggestion for her to stay with him, and she hadn't been forced to degrade herself any further. Am I crazy for wanting to be anywhere near these people? I probably am, but no one else can know about what happened tonight. I'm really not ready to be alone, but if one more thing goes wrong, I might need to take my chances.
Jazz silently trailed behind the sandy-haired man as he went ahead of her to open the door. The instant it swung inward, she heard a mighty swear come from inside.
"Where have you been, Greg? Why didn't you call me?"
"I'm sorry, Bran, things got complicated," the man replied. "And we have a guest."
"What kind of guest? What are you talking about?"
"Brandon, sit down, okay? I have a lot to fill you in on." Greg turned back to the hall. "C'mon in here, Jazz. It's all right; you're perfectly safe."
The young woman swallowed as she slipped through the door, smoothing a hand through flattened hair that had been dampened by the rain. She suddenly felt a little awkward to be meeting yet another new person in her current rough condition.
Oh well. There's nothing I can do about it now.
Jazz shuffled further into the living room, and laid eyes on the owner of the irritated voice. The bronze-haired man was seated when she came in, but when he saw her, he jumped back to his feet. Golden brown eyes observed her nervously as he clenched both fists at his side. Something about his rigid stance reminded her of an animal that would bolt with very little incentive.
"Uh…Brandon, this is Jazz," Greg offered. "We had an accident at the Travel Agency. She pretty much knows everything and then some."
"She knows everything? She saw the guys?" Brandon demanded. "Greg, why couldn't you give me a heads-up? What happened out there?"
"It's a long story, Bran, and Jazz got dragged along for the ride. After what she's been through tonight, I think she deserves a chance to relax. Why don't you sit down, and I'll try to explain everything. Jazz, you could sit down too," he invited her. "This is Brandon, and he's one of my best friends. He knows all about the turtles and the gang, so there's nothing to hide between the three of us."
Sure, we can all just sit here and sing Kumbaya until we're new best friends, she thought sarcastically.
"What does she know about the Akiudo?" Brandon asked sharply.
The way he refused to address her directly irked the young woman. "I know that they tried to kill me for no good reason!" she shot back before Greg could respond. "I know that none of this crap has anything to do with me. I didn't ask to be here or to have secret meetings with terrorists!"
"Wait, you saw the Akiudo tonight?" Brandon's voice soared as he stared at Greg.
And he's still not talking to me.
"Yes, we did," Greg answered. "I don't know how they found me, Bran. I'd separated from the guys, and I was trying to talk to Jazz, when two SUVs showed up. I made it to the docks, and then my car completely died on me. Jazz and I were cornered by them, but thankfully help arrived. There was a brief firefight and things ended with a bang," Greg said sardonically.
That's one way to put it.
Brandon's breathing picked up considerably. "My God, is everyone all right?"
"I would have told you already if they weren't."
"Where's Kat?"
"She, Tim, and Sayuri took the flashdrives to Donny."
"Who's Donny?" Jazz cut in.
"The turtles' brother," Greg told her.
"There are more of them?"
The sandy-haired man chuckled. "Just one."
Jazz glanced back at Brandon. From the way he hunched over on the couch with a shiver, she could have imagined he'd been out there with them.
"I can't believe this," Brandon continued. "They just came out of nowhere?"
"I'm guessing that they'd been watching the Travel Agency, but their timing was—" Greg cut off, and looked down at his cell phone. He watched the device ring, and made no attempt to answer it. The man started to put it down, but it immediately began ringing a second time. Greg swore softly.
"Who is it, Greg?" Brandon asked.
"It's Kelley. He knows – I'm sure he does. I had no choice but to leave my Jeep back there in the middle of the bedlam. If I ignore him, he's just going to track me down. Excuse me, guys." He released a deep breath, and answered the phone. "Hello, Sir. I'm okay – we all are."
There was a long silence, which was followed by a grimace from Greg. "But it wasn't…we didn't…Sir, would you listen to me? We didn't have a choice! No, we didn't start it; they were firing on us with assault rifles! I did the best I could to contain it. Why do you think we ended up at the docks instead of a residential neighborhood?"
There were an additional few quiet seconds, and Greg yanked his collar nervously. "I don't know anything about missiles. Do you think that I carry a launch-pad around in my trunk? They attacked us, Director! I don't know where they came from, okay? We didn't start this! Why is that so difficult for you to understand?
"Yes, I know all about your position, Sir, but I'm telling you, it wasn't our fault! I can't do that. I just got in and I'm dealing with…You can't make me…Fine! No, not there. I'm at the building near St. Joseph's. You're where? Then I'll wait for you. Bye." Greg grunted in frustration as he hung up the phone. "That didn't take long," he muttered.
"Why did he ask you about missiles?" Brandon interjected.
"Raph deployed weapons from the Battleshell to destroy their SUVs," he confessed.
The other man actually grinned. "I can't believe I missed it! Did he take out any of them?"
"That wasn't his real goal. Raph was just trying to create a distraction so that Kat, Tim, and Sayuri could escape the gunfire, and he made it impossible for them to follow us."
"I'm gonna have to give him a pat on the shell next time I see him."
Greg stuffed his phone back into his pocket. "That's a good idea, Bran. Right now, I'm afraid I have to leave."
"You're what?" Brandon's tone rose a second time.
"Kelley is demanding a meeting. I have to go downstairs to wait for him."
"Greg, you just got here! You can't leave me alone again!"
Jazz was perplexed by the amount of fear in his voice.
"You won't be completely alone, and Marc and Caleb are heading this direction soon."
"You can't leave," Brandon insisted.
"I don't have a choice, Bran! This man can destroy us. Do you remember that? Kelley could send Kat and me away forever! He's not giving me an option this time. I have to go talk to him." Greg looked at Jazz. "I'm sorry. He's only about ten minutes away. You're safe here, Jazz. The two of you won't be alone for long, and I'll be back as soon as I can."
Brandon leaped up to pursue Greg as he moved toward the door. "Greg, I'm asking you not to go. "
"I don't want to go – I have to. I'm sorry, Bran. You'll be all right. Make sure the doors are locked and sit tight. Jazz has been through hell tonight. Be nice and look after her, okay?"
Is that code for 'watch me like a hawk?'
Brandon cursed as Greg shut the door behind him, but then his head swiveled to see the pouring rain outside rather than looking at Jazz.
What is this guy's deal? Is he always this paranoid?
"Well," Brandon said flatly. "It's going to be fine. It's fine. They're not here. They already took a beating tonight," he said under his breath.
"Do you save all your reassurance for yourself, or could you throw some of that this direction?" Jazz asked dryly.
The look he gave her was a mixture of anger and desperation. "I can't deal with this right now."
"You can't deal with this?" She was incredulous. "I was only doing my job tonight! I didn't ask for someone to try and kill me. I'm the victim here!"
His broad shoulders slumped awkwardly. "Whatever; I get it."
Jazz smoothly got to her feet. "It doesn't sound like either of us is too happy about the situation," the young woman said. "You don't have to deal with me. I'm cool, y'know? I can find the way out."
"No!" His insistence only served to alarm her. "No," he repeated more quietly. "You can't go. Greg asked me to look after you, and I can do that much."
The defensive posture with which he blocked the door made Jazz catch her breath, and she swore inwardly. This punk is huge, and I swear he's coming unglued. I think I'm better off alone. I can start searching the job listings. There's no way I still have mine after disappearing tonight. Jazz sighed to herself. That's just what I need to think about. I'm screwed – it's the story of my life. I have to find some way out.
She looked toward the hall. "Is the bathroom down there?"
Brandon rubbed the back of his head, as though suddenly ashamed. "Yeah, uh…it's the only door on the right."
Jazz moved slowly in the direction of the hallway to avoid setting him off with sudden movement. She eyed the bathroom, and bypassed the door to peek into another room. The woman studied the darkened interior of the bedroom, and noticed the outside access to the balcony.
She strode across the room and silently opened the door. Jazz stood in the doorway, stretching to see the fire escape before backing into the room. Why does it have to be the top floor? Even the thought of descending was making her feel dizzy. I can do this. I have to do this. She hesitated by the door, talking herself into going out in the heavy rain.
"Jazz?" Brandon's suspicious voice traveled down the hall. "What are you doing?"
Fear of being caught overrode her normal reason, and she backpedaled toward the closet. The man was inside the bedroom within seconds, and she heard him curse.
"No!" he exclaimed, rapidly moving toward the balcony door that was still ajar.
Jazz peered around the edge of the closet to watch him lingering frozen at the door. His breathing was so rapid it sounded like he was going to hyperventilate. After a few seconds Brandon darted outside, and the solution to her problem was obvious. The young woman lunged out of the closet to slam the door shut, and locked the handle.
She was all set to run out of the room when an unearthly cry shattered the air. Jazz's brain told her to keep moving, but she couldn't keep herself from looking back over her shoulder. The man was wrestling uselessly with the knob in one hand, and pounding against the glass on the door with the other.
"NO! Open it! Open the door!"
The pure panic in his voice was disconcerting to hear, and it only made Jazz want to leave more. She turned her head away and heard another ear-splitting shout as his fervent attack on the door increased. Jazz backed up toward the hall, but the sight of the disintegrating man was like being captured by a car accident from which she couldn't look away.
She jolted as she heard the glass pane crack under pressure. His following cry wasn't angry, but the most pitiful sound to come forth yet. Jazz traveled forward, her heart rate increasing as she stepped toward the balcony door. At the sight of blood running from his right hand, she shook her head. I can't go through with it, or I would have left already.
Jazz flipped the lock and turned the handle of the door. She fell backwards a couple of feet as he scrambled inside the apartment.
"I'm sorry—I didn't—" she faltered as he pursued her.
Brandon shoved her across the room, cursing her name. She flattened against the wall stiffening for the expected blows, but he didn't touch her again. He was too busy pulling at the drenched sweatshirt that was clinging to his chest. It seemed to be more difficult to remove than it should have been. Jazz's fear of him ebbed somewhat as she watched him struggle with a strangled sob.
"I…I can help," she stammered.
"Get out!" He was muffled by the battle with his sweatshirt.
"I'm really sorry," she said hesitantly. "I didn't mean to scare you."
Brandon's head finally emerged from underneath the shirt and he hurled it across the room, gasping as though he couldn't breathe. Jazz wasn't trying to stare, but she couldn't take her eyes off of him. The muscular definition of his chest was marred by wicked-looking scars that left her a little breathless too.
"Get OUT!" he ordered with tremendous effort.
Jazz hurried out of the room, but then looked back once more. The bronze-haired man flopped onto the bed, curling up to face the wall.
This isn't right. He's too frightened. A guy that ripped, he doesn't have reason to be afraid of much. She winced at the sight of the scarring that continued down his back. Jazz noticed him digging into his pocket, and closed the door further when she saw the phone in his hand.
Brandon still seemed to be trying to catch his breath as he held the phone up to his ear. After a lapse of a few seconds, he started talking. "Marc?" He sounded overwhelmed. "Can you get over here? I need you now. Yes."
He hung up the phone abruptly and buried his head in the pillow. Jazz softly shut the door the rest of the way, too ashamed to watch the man any longer. As she sank onto the couch, she realized that she still had the opportunity to run.
But I can't go. I don't know why I got caught up inside this weird dimension, but I'm too far into it to walk away now.