L.L. Foster - The Acceptance

No one else had approached her, asked or listened. No one else had encroached at a time when her defenses were lost to her.

“What’s in your mind, child?”

The voice came from far away, biting into her agony. “Death. Death.”

“For yourself?”

The torment twisted her, bowed her body like a soul possessed. “No,” she whimpered. “For another.”

A cool hand touched her brow. She shied from the aberrant act of comfort.

“And that would be . . . ?”

“I don’t know his name.” Speaking of her sins, her darkest cravings, should have cast her straight to hell. Instead, it freed her. “He’s there. At the end of the alley.” She curled tighter, squeezing her arms around herself, begging herself to be silent, but the words erupted. “I don’t know why, but I need to destroy him.”

After a thoughtful pause, he said, “Wait here.”

The priest left her, as was right and proper. But within minutes, he returned. Without a word, he sat beside her in the abominable alley, uncaring of his robes or the refuse that surrounded her, that was her.

Finally, after a long time, he said, “You would truly kill him?”

“Yes. Oh God, yes.”

“I don’t see how.” He lifted her hair back, put his hand around her upper arm. “You’re so young, a small child . . .”

“I would rip him to shreds with my bare hands!” The demonic voice sounded like someone else, but just saying it sent a fire raging through her, making the pain wan beneath a surge of pernicious strength. She panted hard, looked at the priest and saw his shock, his fear, and his curiosity, perhaps even understanding.

Sickened, expecting the worst, she tried to turn away.

He held her face. “Look at me.”

And when she did, he said, “Do it.”

Permission energized her. The strength amassed, so powerful that she felt inhuman. Superhuman.

“If you can destroy him,” Father said with a calm that soothed her, “then you should, because my dear, no one else will.” He smiled, patted her cheek, and said without judgment, “I’ll wait here.”

“Gaby?”

She jerked. Still held by the bellicose nostalgia, she reacted on instinct. Grabbing her confronter, she put him in a deadly hold—and heard a choking laugh.

“God, Gaby, I’ve missed you,” the strangled voice said.

Mort. “You idiot!” She loosed him with a shove of temper. “Don’t you know better than to sneak up on me?”

“Sneak?” Even in the darkness, she could see his grin. “I almost walked into you, you’re standing there so still.” He threw his arms around her, and she was stunned by his strength.

Morty Vance, landlord and wannabe friend, had always been just shy of a complete wimp and a spineless worm.

Now he had muscle tone; Gaby could feel the new strength in his limbs. And he exuded . . . confidence.

What the hell? “Mort? Is that really you?”

Using the back of his hand, he swiped away a tear. Of happiness? Shit.

“Of course it’s me,” he said around a robust laugh, and he didn’t look the least bit self-conscious about weeping like an infant. “Luther called to say you were finally coming over, so I hurried out to meet you.”

“Luther called you?”

Ignoring her question, he let his gaze roam all over her. “I almost didn’t recognize you, Gaby, you look so different!” He held her at arm’s length. “Look at you!”

Feeling like a freak with the way he gawked, she shook him off. “Stop it.” Two gangly youths walking by tried to mean mug them, but one vengeful glance from her and they kept on going.

Mort beamed. “Same old Gaby where it counts, I see.”

Now what the hell did he mean by that? “I altered the façade a little, that’s all.” Changing clothes and hair had been necessary camouflage to help her blend in. “It’s nothing.”

“You have nice legs.”

Without even meaning to, Gaby surged up nose to nose with him, oozing menace and prickly beyond all measure. “Do you want me to demolish you?”

To her shock, he kissed her nose. “No.” Then he bear-hugged her again, and all Gaby could do was stand there, arms and legs stiff, head back as far as her neck would allow, as she suffered his excess of affection.

“Come on,” he said as he finally turned her loose. He clasped her hand. “Let’s go to my place so we can catch up.”

She didn’t budge. “I’m going to kill you, Mort.”

He laughed, held his hands out in surrender. “I’m sorry, Gaby. I really am. I know you’re not into public displays. It’s just that I really have missed you. Where did you go? Why did you leave me?”

Leave him? He smiled as he spoke, but a shitload of hurt shone in his pale blue eyes. He’d been her first friend.

Her only friend. Because he’d insisted. Little by little he’d forced his way in, and now he thought she’d abandoned him.

Gaby’s stomach burned with guilt, and she hated it. With all she’d done—the people she’d dismembered—hurting one landlord’s insignificant feelings shouldn’t factor in.

But it did.

Father was a confidante, a teacher, pseudo-family. But he hadn’t been as compassionate and caring, as . . . affectionate, as Mort.

Damn him for doing this to her.

Taking a cocky stance, she rolled her eyes. She meant to sound flippant, but instead, at the last second, the words emerged rife with aching loss. “I thought you were dead.”

He blinked hard and fast. “Dead?”

Out of her element, Gaby lashed out, thwacking him on the shoulder and turning to walk a wide circle. “You were caught in that damned abandoned hospital. It exploded. I saw you go down, Mort.”

“You’d already left.”

She shot around to face him. “I came back for you!”

“You did?”

It was too much. She hadn’t expected to feel this . . . this . . . whatever. She didn’t like it. And it was Mort’s fault.

“Fuck it.” She strode away, her long legs eating up the pavement—until Mort rushed around in front of her.

“I’m sorry.” His feet braced apart, expression forbidding, he blocked her. “I didn’t know.”

She couldn’t believe it. Had the world gone topsy-turvy on her? Composure slipping, she snarled, “Get out of my way.”

“No.”

“No?”

Mort’s scrawny chest expanded on a deep inhalation. “But Gaby, even if I had known what you thought, I couldn’t have done anything about it, could I? You walked away and I had no idea where to find you. I thought you had taken off for good.”

Still incredulous, she repeated, “No?”

He shook his head. “Please. Let’s go to my place and talk. Your room is still there. You can move back in—”

The groan erupted with volcanic force. Worse and worse. She didn’t want to hurt Mort again, but moving back was out of the question. Disgusted, she grabbed his hand and dragged him to the curb to sit. “Park it, Mort.”

He parked.

Pacing behind him didn’t do one damn thing for her temper, so she finally dropped down beside him. The short skirt, always an annoyance, rode up. But what the hell? It was too dark for anyone to see, and she didn’t give a flip anyway.

Putting her elbows on her knees, she let out a breath. “I can’t come back, Mort.”

“Why?”

Being questioned by anyone was as new as friendship. But she supposed it came hand in hand, so she cut Mort some slack. “I can visit, but I can’t live there. And no, don’t grill me. I can’t, and that’s that.”