Gena Showalter - Playing with Fire

Ice crystals had just formed on the tips of my fingers. I’d watched them, watched the crystals form out of nothing, simply crystallizing from my skin. The cold didn’t bother me, didn’t affect me at all.

In that moment, I believed him. I believed everything he’d said, without any hint of doubt. I would control the weather, he’d said. Rain, snow … sleet. I would cause floods, fires and tornadoes, he’d said. People wanted to experiment on me, he’d said. Ohmygod!

“What’s your name?” I gasped, hoping to drown out thoughts of ice and experiments. I rubbed my hands together for warmth and managed to melt the ice. I didn’t tell him what had just happened.

“That’s not important.”

“I disagree. I like to know the names of the men who want to kill me. It’s one of my little quirks.”

His lips twitched. “Rome. My name is Rome.”

An exotic name for an exotic-looking man. I frowned. Considering the reason he was here, I had no business thinking of him as “exotic.”

“I don’t want superpowers, Rome. I don’t want to be in this situation, “ I added desperately. “Help me get my normal life back. Please.”

“I can’t. I told you that. The scientist who created the formula, maybe.” He shook his head. “Even then it’s doubtful.”

“I’m willing to try.”

“Too bad. Dr. Roberts is missing and no one has been able to find the crafty bastard.”

Dr. Roberts—I committed the name to memory. That harmless-looking man in the lab coat was the one ultimately responsible for my predicament. He deserved a horde of killers chasing him. “Tell me something. If you and your boss are the good guys, how can either of you consider hurting me? Destroying me?”

His lips lifted in a smile completely devoid of humor. “We do what we must to keep the world safe. That’s our job. Sometimes good people do bad things, even unintentionally, and they must be stopped. If you’re left on your own, you could cause one disaster after another. Hurt millions of people. Destroy—”

“I told you, “ I interrupted, determined to make him believe me. “I would never do those things.”

“You wouldn’t mean to, but.” He left the rest unsaid. “What’s more, you could end up in the wrong hands. Enemy hands, and you could be used against us.”

My eyes closed briefly, opened, then closed again, opened, and I stared at the carpet. My remaining strength (not that there had been much) abandoned me with lightning speed. Black stars winked over my vision, interlocking and slowly weaving together to form a solid wall I couldn’t penetrate.

He’d won. Rome had won. Any moment now I would sink into total oblivion. He’d be able to do whatever he wanted to me then. Kill me. Neutralize me. I tried to fight the seductive call of sleep, but it proved increasingly potent. How could I do this? How could I fall asleep amid such danger?

If he possessed any type of remorse, any guilt, any hesitation in doing his job, I had to bring that into focus now. Before it was too late.

“Rome, “ I said, the word nearly undetectable. “Please don’t hurt me. You won’t only kill me, you’ll kill my father. I’m all he’s got. I pay his bills. He’s too weak to work. Without me, he’ll lose everything, will be destitute. Homeless … dead. Have you ever had anyone depend on you for their survival?”

Something almost tender flashed over his face, as if he was thinking of someone.

Maybe I imagined it, maybe I didn’t. Either way, I didn’t have time to think about it. Darkness consumed me in the next instant.

I SNAKED IN AND OUT of turbulent dreams—dreams that were hauntingly vivid. A knife flashed through my mind, its sharp tip glistening silver, then crimson. A huge black cat growled from the corner of my bedroom before leaping and attacking—me? Did it attack me?

Panic was beyond my grasp. At least I felt no pain.

The images were disjointed, seeming to happen all at once, yet an eternity apart.

I struggled against the violence, determined to tamp it out, but I had no control over the situation. I was completely vulnerable. Utterly helpless.

Rome’s rugged face suddenly loomed over me, hazy, blurred. He appeared resolute and a little sad. “I’m sorry, “ he said, his voice penetrating and chasing away some of the darkness.

“Don’t hurt me, “ I pleaded.

“If I don’t, someone else will and they won’t be merciful.”

“Please.”

“I must.”

“No.”

Pause.

He lifted tendrils of my hair and sifted it through his fingers. “You’re as innocent as Sunny, “ he said gently. He sighed.

“Who’s—” I felt a sharp sting in my arm and jerked. A burning river entered my bloodstream, racing through me. A drugging peace followed the burn, settling over me, infusing every part of my body.

Down, down I sank into another realm of darkness, a spiraling void. There were no solid anchors. No sense of time or place. Thankfully, the dreams were held at bay, evaporating as if they’d never existed. I floated over a blanket of clouds.

Then … nothing. Yet … everything.

How much time passed, I didn’t know. I only knew pricks of light soon began to invade my mind. With the light came strength, and my eyelids fought to open. I needed to wake up; I knew I did. Something called to me. Beckoned. I stretched my arms over my head. My back arched, popping each vertebra of my spine. It felt good to move.

The scents of frying bacon and scrambled eggs blended with the sugary sweet fragrance of syrup, wafting to me like a summoning finger that promised to lead me straight into paradise. My mouth watered.

As I forced myself to full wakefulness, I gazed around the bedroom. Confusion seeped slowly into my consciousness. I don’t know what I expected to see, but what I saw wasn’t it.

A faux marble armoire rested against the far white wall. But … I didn’t own an armoire. Sheer dark blue curtains draped the only window, curtains that should have been green. The old, ratty quilt I’d bought at a garage sale swathed the bed in a multihued sea of colors, but this mattress was different, softer than mine. Overhead, a ceiling fan whirled slowly, providing a light but welcome breeze.

I didn’t have a ceiling fan in my room.

Where was I? In the last glimpse I’d had of my bedroom, black, ashy smudges had layered the carpet and walls. These walls were bare, peeling but clean. I shook my head, and my gaze landed on a junglelike corner of thriving plants, brilliant green and dewy. My plants were dry, nearing death.

Obviously I’d been moved. The man, the one who’d wanted to neutralize me, had brought me here. Yes. Rome was his name, and that’s what he’d done. Too bad he hadn’t been a dream. His harsh, savagely sensual face was too vivid in my mind; his threats still rang in my ears. My fingers still trembled from having held him off.

Shouldn’t I be dead? I glanced down at my hands, turning them in the light. At the very least, shouldn’t I have awakened in a laboratory, strapped to a table, with evil scientists doing things to my body they wouldn’t do to farm animals? Instead, I felt well-rested and clean. I even tasted mint, as if someone had recently brushed my teeth. My hair and skin smelled fragrant, like jasmine body wash. I did not want to contemplate what that meant.

Get up, Jamison. Get out of here before Rome returns. Yes, yes. That’s exactly what I needed to do. I threw a leg over the side of the bed.

“Good. You’re awake, “ a cold, hard voice said from the doorway. “Not trying to escape, are you?”

Gasping, I whipped my head toward the speaker, my leg dangling guiltily in front of me. Rome filled the doorway, his arms crossed over his chest. He wore another black shirt, the sleeves rolled up, the button at his collar undone. Black slacks hugged lean legs.