L.L. Foster - The Acceptance

At her question, Mort laughed aloud. Ann ducked her face to hide her humor.

And it struck Gaby. “Oh yeah. The whole sex thing. You got laid last night, right?” Shaking her head, a little irritated at their combined good humor, she added, “Nookie has transformed you, Mort. I swear, even your hair looks thicker.”

Strangling, Mort scowled at her and smoothed a hand over his sparse brown hair. But his pale blue eyes twinkled and he stood taller, straighter. His paunch seemed less noticeable—maybe because he wore clothes with improved style, or maybe because he was now more active, more fit.

And maybe because Ann cared for him.

“Gaby has a, um, sexual question for you, Mort, so I’ll take my turn showering and let you two talk.”

Startled, Mort grabbed Ann’s arm to detain her. “You don’t have to rush off.”

“Oh, but I do.” She patted Mort. “I’m afraid this is out of my comfort zone.”

“I doubt it,” Gaby told her. “I was just curious about what Mort does to you. Luther did some stuff to me, but I’m not sure if it’s normal or not.”

They both stared at her.

“Well, that got your attention, didn’t it?” Under her breath, she muttered, “Pervs.”

Mort shook himself. “Maybe it’d be better if you asked someone else your questions.”

“Like who? The hookers? Luther insists they have a different slant on things, but since Ann’s not a hooker—”

“No, she’s not.”

Ann stiffened. “Definitely not.”

“Right. So I figured she’d have a different take on the whole sexual gratification thing. I mean, Luther keeps telling me it’s entirely different for women who aren’t in the flesh trade.”

“Oh God,” Mort said. He cleared his throat. “I’m sure Luther is . . . normal in his appetites.”

“And you picked that up by osmosis? You don’t even know yet what he did to me.”

“I’m out of here,” Ann said with emphasis.

Before she could leave, Luther’s voice, harsh with indignation,filled the room. “No need, Ann. I’ll explain things to Gaby—again—when we’re alone.”

Sighing, Gaby tilted her head back and looked at Luther upside down. “You have the uncanny ability to sneak up on me.”

His smile was mean. “Maybe it’s just that you’re not as slick as you think.”

“No. That’s definitely not it.” She looked back at Mort with an expression that said Luther was way off base with that one. “You don’t keep the door locked?”

“Usually.” Sex might have revitalized Mort, but his unease in the face of Luther’s obvious disgruntlement still left him stammering. “Luther. Nice of you to visit. Can I get you some coffee?”

“Thanks, no.”

Because she didn’t look at Luther, Gaby had to judge his heavy silence by the looks on Ann’s and Mort’s faces. Not good.

“You’re being a bully, Luther. Lighten up before Mort pisses himself.”

The insinuation that Mort lacked courage sent Ann over the edge. “That’s enough!” She propped her hands on her hips. “They,” she said, meaning the men, “might tolerate your abhorrent bad manners toward Mort, but I will not.”

Gaby eyed her militant stance. The robe detracted somewhat from its effectiveness. “Odd. What Luther did to me was real relaxing. Almost put me to sleep.” She cocked one brow up. “Mort must not be doing it right for you to be so high-strung.”

Startling Mort, Ann rounded the table. For a moment there, Gaby thought the woman would attack her.

Instead, Ann stopped beside her and glared. “Listen up, little girl.”

Gaby straightened in her seat. “Little girl?”

“Your obnoxious behavior doesn’t fool anyone, least of all me.”

She dared? Rising to her feet, Gaby growled again, “Little girl?”

“You can be as eccentric as you like, but if you behave like a child, then that’s exactly how you’ll be treated.”

Gaby narrowed her eyes. “You must be hiding a pair of brass balls somewhere under that fluffy robe.”

“Not impressed, Gaby,” Ann shot back. “In my line of work, I’ve seen it all, and lady, you’re not the worst, not by a long shot.”

Cocking out a hip and folding her arms, Gaby grunted in disdain. “Well, that just goes to show that someone’s not paying attention.”

Exasperated, Ann threw up her hands. “I get it that you lack social skills, lady. But that is not an excuse for your cruelty.”

Cruelty? That gave Gaby pause. “When have I been cruel?”

Though Ann was much shorter, she held herself like a woman who knew how to do combat. Police training? Luther could tell her that it’d do her no good against Gaby.

Not that Gaby had any intention of hurting her. Ann was what people called “petite.” She’d feel like a fool battling with a petite little fluff like Ann.

And besides, neither Luther nor Morty would like it.

“Mort claims you’re a friend, yet you take every opportunity to belittle him. You say unforgivable things, and you—”

“It’s okay, Ann,” Morty said.

“No, it is not!”

No, it wasn’t, Gaby agreed. But in the middle of processing all of Ann’s accusations, absorbing them and sorting them out, tragedy struck Gaby.

The force of it bowed her back and left her blind.

In the periphery, she heard Ann say, “Oh no, what is it? What’s wrong with her?”

Luther grumbled, “Not again,” while Mort said, “Get out of her way.”

Seeing flames licking the sky, hearing an agonized scream, Gaby groped for the chair back and braced herself so she wouldn’t collapse under the force of the image. Inside her head, the prediction blackened, the screams escalated.

It was too much. It was happening now .

Pushing away the hands that reached for her, Gaby stumbled from the room. If the others followed, well, she couldn’t stop them—just as she couldn’t stem the tide of physical torment flooding the nerve sensors of her body.

The staggering pain stole her oxygen, contorted her features, and left her teeth clenched in anguish.

“Gaby!”

Aware of Luther trying to grasp her as she fled, Gaby sucked in harsh, too shallow breaths. But this was too critical, too excruciating, to be contained by mortal means. The efficacious pain rendered her oblivious to all but her purpose.

Once outside, her senses honed and Gaby broke into a full-out run. She didn’t have far to go. At the end of the block, consuming an old clapboard building, a red-hot conflagration dug fingers of heat into the sky with crimson terror.

Gaby heard the screams again, but they were silent screams trapped in her head, for her torment only.

That burning building held someone captive.

Gaby charged forward—and Luther tackled her from the side. They hit the pavement hard, him atop her; his considerable weight held her down.

Twisting her face around to see him, she met his resolve.

Pain eased, retracting its razor-sharp talons from her muscles and flesh, and at the same time, relieving her motivation to salvage an innocent life. Luther’s physical contiguity blunted what should have been an inviolable defense.

Her seldom summoned humanity reared up, urging her to free herself from Luther’s spell. Even with the demons gone, she knew what she had to do.

“Let me go, Luther.”

He knotted a hand in her hair. “God damn you, Gaby, do you want to die? You can not go in there.”

Closing her eyes and calming her mind against the residue of piercing cries, Gaby gathered her strength. When she opened them, Luther must have seen the purpose in her face.

He hardened himself and tightened his hold. “The building is empty.”

Sadly, she shook her head. “No, Luther, it’s not.”