Jo Robertson - The Avenger

Big mistake to bring her. He knew the trip wouldn't be fruitful from the get go, and he hadn't really needed her along, but he couldn't resist the chance to spend a few private hours with her. The sweet memory of her long legs and soft breasts lingered in his mind. He felt himself growing hard. Shit!

Pulling a pair of cotton sweats over his naked hips, he turned on the light and rummaged around until he found the coffee decanter and packets of instant coffee and sugar. A few minutes later, mug in hand, he slid open the balcony door and stepped outside. The temperature had dropped and the cool air felt good on his fevered body. The tree leaves twisted and fluttered in the breeze that shifted across the grass. He caught the scent of roses growing up a lattice at the edge of the concrete patio below him. Breathing deeply, he finally relaxed.

He's running again, tripping over a gnarled tree root. He reaches the ledge and prepares himself for the inevitable fall. His feet dangle over the edge. At the final moment, just like in a cartoon, he grabs for a tree limb and clutches it. He hangs there helplessly.

Suddenly, Olivia peers over the ledge. "Why are you running away, Jackie?" Her young voice is melancholy. As she stands, he sees that her body is naked, her breasts mere buds on her slender chest, the pubic hair downy. She stretches out her hands and he reaches upward to catch them. Almost, almost.

Then she cries out and lurches from a blow to her back. She staggers from a second blow to the legs. Blood courses down her slender body. From behind her a lumbering, indistinct shadow steps. While she lies helplessly on the ground, the figure raises its arms above its head and strikes downward with unnatural strength. A piercing scream gushes from her mouth like blood from a grievous wound.

She screams again.

As he clawed his way out of the dream, the remnants wound around Jack's consciousness like fog tendrils. He knew instinctively that an anomaly had occurred, for he hadn't taken any medication, and he couldn't be sure if he'd actually slept or fallen into a kind of trance.

He glanced at his wrist watch. Twenty minutes had passed since he'd smelled the roses. The coffee cup rested on his thigh, his finger still inserted through the handle. He tested the brew.

Cold.

In the bathroom he stared at his reflection in the mirror. Under the harsh light, the changes were more pronounced. The dilated pupils like large black holes. The heavy jaw, the thickening beard. The stretching and throbbing beneath his skin.

He returned to the sitting area, sank onto the sofa, pressed a thumb and forefinger between his eyes as he strained to remember. To wean himself off the meds and deconstruct the dream without relying on the blue tablets.

He'd lain down, remained awake for several hours. Then he'd prepared the coffee and sat on the balcony to enjoy the rose garden… and suddenly he was racing in the African jungle as if jackals were after him. And then Olivia appeared, attempted to save him, was injured.

Damn, he didn't think the dream was about the case at all.

"Jack, what are you doing sitting in the dark?"

Almost as though his thoughts had conjured her, Olivia entered through the connecting door and pressed the button for the lamp by the sofa. Soft light flooded the room. Jack blinked twice as his sensitive eyes shrank from the glare. The last thing he wanted was for Olivia to see the transformations, however subtle. "Turn off the light," he growled.

"But it's not brigh – "

"Goddamn it, turn it off!"

Olivia quickly turned down the dimmer.

Feverish and wracked with a bizarre kind of pain, he hunched on the sofa and tried to control the Change. It was useless. It was coming on without the red pills.

Avoiding Olivia's eyes, he sniffed like a predator scenting its quarry. His muscles twitched with the urge to pounce, to hunt, to mate. With superhuman strength, he searched for the slender thread of humanity he prayed was still there and clung to it for dear life.

In the near darkness Olivia watched Jack hulk like a wounded animal, his back toward her. The soft glow from the moon barely reached the table in front of the sofa. She walked determinedly forward, her hands groping like a blind person. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing." The voice didn't sound at all like Jack.

"You can't fool me. I know you too well. Something's wrong."

He barked out a bitter laugh. "If you know what's best, you'll leave me alone."

Eyes adjusting, she advanced further, knelt in front of him, and placed her hands on his thighs. Although she couldn't see his face, she sensed the difference in him. Heat emanated from his body, hot and dry through the clothes beneath her fingers.

She snatched back her hand. "You're burning up with fever!"

"Go away," he snarled. "Leave." When she hesitated, he roared, "Now, for Christ's sake!"

"You're crazy if you think I'm leaving you alone like this." When he didn't answer, she reached for the phone. "All right, I'm calling a doctor."

"No!" He grabbed her wrist, jerking it hard. There'd be an ugly bruise tomorrow, she thought. Uneasiness fluttered in her chest.

"Okay, okay," he conceded. "I… I'll take some aspirin and lie down. It's just a flu bug."

She looked at him dubiously, but marched to her room, retrieved aspirin, and returned with a glass of water. Jack swallowed the pills, his face hidden in the shadows.

"You're frightening me, Jack. What's wrong with you?"

"I'll be fine," he mumbled, and as if to prove it, he stumbled toward the bed, stripped off his sweats, and lay down on top of the covers.

She saw only a distinct outline of his form, the shadows of chest and groin, but enough to know he was naked. The not-so-subtle hint meant he'd already withdrawn. Anything she said now would fall on deaf ears. Since his arrival, she'd seen Jack shut down like this – the hooded eyes, the step backwards even when no movement took place as he erected an impenetrable wall between them.

A moment later she closed the door between their rooms.

Jack stretched out on the bed, his arms and legs flung wide. The crisp chill of the room whirled around his burning body. The aspirin began to reduce the heat, but it couldn't slow down his adrenaline. Close. He sensed how close he'd come to harming her. Lust and desire, rage and energy set his nerves thrumming like crazed violins. Skewed his moral center and strangled clear thinking.

What was happening to him? His preternatural powers were out of whack. What had started as a small blip after Africa had gone wild since he'd been around Olivia. Like something stronger, more vicious – more immediate – had been unleashed. Years ago he'd promised to protect Livvie from her stepfather. He'd kept that promise, but at a price she'd never known, couldn't begin to guess. Now he'd put her in danger again.

Relenting, he stumbled to the closet, retrieved his duffle bag, and removed the packet of Phens. He popped several into his mouth, hoping they'd control whatever darkness struggled to get out of him. He added two blue tablets and lay down to wait for their magic to work.

An hour later his body temp had returned to normal, his heart rate steadied, and his respiration slowed. But the sound of Olivia's frightened voice still rang in his mind. He stifled an invective, pulled on the sweats, and opened the connecting door between their rooms. She hadn't locked it against him. What did that mean?

Olivia sat on her bed, vacillated between going to Jack again and locking the connecting door between their rooms. She stared at it, trying to imagine what was happening on the other side, trying to process the events of the last several hours. Whoever – whatever – was in the other room wasn't the Jack she knew. Didn't sound like him, didn't look like him. She let out a shudder and pulled the spread over her bare legs.