L.L. Foster - The Acceptance

The last thing he heard was Gaby whispering his name.

Blind with the sight, Gaby kicked out at the man who’d just assaulted Luther, and sent him to his back. Certain she’d broken a rib or two, she turned back to the boy, and an old lady jabbed her in the back with a needle. The odd sensation of a foreign substance filtered into her bloodstream, burning like fire, ravaging her senses.

Gaby snapped her elbow back into the woman’s face. Blood splayed, bone crunched, and the woman dropped in a heap with a broken nose, maybe more.

Moments slithered away. Gaby turned a circle, watching the man, the woman, and the kid in turn. The drug attacked her omniscient sagacity, slowing her movements, her thoughts.

And the kid said, “Settle down, whore, or we’ll cut his throat and leave him where he is to bleed to death.”

Unwilling to risk that outcome, Gaby gave up.

“Put your hands behind your back.”

Even disoriented with drugs, her nature rebelled. “I can’t.”

The woman, spewing blood and vitriol alike, jammed another needle into her, then again and again, more for spite than anything else since she’d emptied the hypodermic on the first stab.

Her vision gave way to shadows, but her hearing remained acute.

“Stop it, you moron. I want her alive.”

“But, Oren—”

“Shut up and get the car.”

Fear for Luther left Gaby malleable; the drug distorted everything. Cruel hands half-dragged her to a car and shoved her into a backseat. Luther’s heavy frame landed against her.

And then, as the car drove away, a great black void swallowed her whole.

Oren danced in his seat. “You see how I got both of them so easily? It takes superior cunning and great planning—something you both lack—to gain such great rewards. Maybe now, as my cohorts, you’ll recognize my superiority.”

Aunt Dory sniffled and snuffled in a nauseating display. “But she broke my nose,” she complained in a nasal whine.

Seeing her bleed everywhere, Oren felt like slapping her. “Stupid bitch. I told you to watch her, to stay out of her reach. It’s your own fault for being fat and stupid.”

Uncle Myer cleared his throat. “Dory is slow, but it was more that the woman is so fast. Faster than anyone I’ve ever seen.”

“Not fast enough for me.” He twisted to look at her in the backseat. The big cop was out cold, boneless, defenseless. His head slumped against the passenger door.

But the woman . . . She remained more upright than otherwise, and her eyes hadn’t closed. They were the clearest blue, unseeing, unmoving. But looking right at Oren.

A shiver of concern scraped down his nape. Feeling almost . . . obeisant, he stared back. “She has the eeriest eyes I’ve ever seen.” Using caution, Oren waved a hand in front of her face. “She doesn’t blink, but I can almost swear she still has cognitive ability. It’s as if she’s looking right at me, even comprehending what I say.”

Aunt Dory wailed in new terror. “She’s a demon, Oren. That’s why she’s so fast. Please, let’s just cut her throat and dump her here. Right now.”

Animus cut through the layers of Oren’s generous nature. He stared at Dory with contempt. “Because of your pusillanimity, you want me to leave that much evidence behind? Must you always prove your stupidity?”

Aunt Dory snuffled. “Pusi what?”

Ignorant fool. “Oh, just . . . shut up.” Oren gave his attention back to the woman. He was invincible, he knew that now. If she was a demon, well then, she’d be the perfect adversary for him. He needed someone worthy of his ability. Maybe she’d be the one.

Look at all he’d done so far, all with nary a glance of suspicion cast his way. Why, he could cut Dory and Myer’s throats and no one would ever know.

More to himself than his relatives, Oren said, “My indomitable intelligence and keen understanding surpass the feeble effort of law enforcement. I can do just as I please— even to a demon whore.”

Uncle Myer glanced in the rearview mirror and almost caused a wreck. While trying to get the car steady again, he shouted, “Oh dear God, she’s smiling! She’s smiling!”

Dory screamed loud enough to pierce Oren’s eardrums.

Startled, Oren again looked over the seat at the woman, and saw her expression hadn’t changed one iota. Incensed beyond measure, he clouted Uncle Myer, chastising him for inciting a panic.

“She’s drugged, you buffoon. How can she smile?”

“I swear she did!” Myer insisted. “Jesus, God Almighty, Oren, I have a real bad feeling about this. Real bad. I don’t want anything to do with her.”

He sat between two fools, unworthy of his time or effort. “You’re both gutless recreants. If she frightens you so, then fine, she’ll be my treat, and mine alone.”

“Thank you, Oren.”

“But they’re a package deal. You don’t get the man either. I have plans to use him in order to break her down.” He laughed, imagining the scene, her helpless reaction. Oh yes, it’d be grand. Very grand. “Maybe I’ll even show you how it should be done.”

Aunt Dory and Uncle Myer stayed silent.

And although Oren spoke with great élan, he kept a wary eye on the woman for the remainder of the drive.

Pinpricks pierced Gaby’s brain by the thousands, little by little dissipating the drug-induced fog. She kept her head hanging, her hands loose.

Thanks to her omniscient replenishment, she’d never lost consciousness, only the ability to move or react. Her mind stayed sharp and she’d had plenty of time to devise her counterattack against evil’s little minion.

Throughout her years she’d known a lot of assholes, but Oren surpassed others in depravity. Luther was threatened, so this kill would be easier than most.

Rough ropes bound her wrists to wooden chair arms. Another rope cut across her throat, lodged just beneath her choker, and yet another around her waist.

But her legs were unbound, and that would prove to be Oren’s downfall.

Showing no obvious signs of awareness, Gaby flexed her muscles, testing her agility, ensuring her limbs didn’t still sleep.

In the background, she heard Oren talking, and she heard the clink of instruments being laid on the table.

Gaby lifted her head and did a quick assessment of the tableau of torture set before her. Knifes, clamps, saws, pliers, electrical cords, and more, all created a shining array of intent.

At the opposite end of a small, square wooden table, Luther had been bound in a similar fashion, but without the cord around his throat. Still unconscious, thank God.

He didn’t need to see what would happen.

In the corner, huddled together in fear, were the two idiots who’d accosted them. The woman’s grotesquely swollen nose gave testament to Gaby’s accuracy. The old man held his ribs.

They, Gaby realized, were astute enough to know the error in trying to take her prisoner.

Someone had stuck her knife, tip first, into the wood in the middle of the table, next to Luther’s gun. When Gaby got her hands on her knife, they’d realize the folly of that taunt.

Giggling, Oren fingered a pair of steel clippers. “I hope they awaken soon. I’m anxious to get started.”

“I’m awake now, asshole.”

Oren jerked around so fast, he stumbled. His mouth formed an absurd “o” of surprise—but his eyes . . . his eyes held fear and his brow revealed the cold sweat of a coward.

The woman wailed again.

“Shut up,” Gaby told her. She didn’t raise her voice, didn’t even sound particularly insistent. But she looked at the woman, and the simmering rage in her unequivocal stare encouraged the woman to clamp her lips together.