Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 103719 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 519(@200wpm)___ 415(@250wpm)___ 346(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103719 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 519(@200wpm)___ 415(@250wpm)___ 346(@300wpm)
He allowed himself a brief moment for a mental snapshot: She was beautiful in motion, her arms and legs pumping, her mouth open as she yelled in anger, her body a powerful, athletic coordination kicked into gear by a keen, assertive mind.
Alas, he would have to depart.
And dematerialize he did.
But not before, in the darkness… he blew her a kiss.
* * *
When Lydia reached the guard, she stopped so short that she tripped over her feet and landed on her hands and knees—which gave her an up-close-and-personal that was horrifying: The man was facedown and limp in the scratchy grass, his head turned away at a bad angle.
Very bad.
“Help!” she called out again.
Where was security when you needed them?
“Sir,” she said as she gently patted his shoulder, “it’s okay. You’re going to be okay?”
As if that was a question she expected him to answer or something.
Crab-walking around him, she—“Oh… God.”
Lydia let herself fall back onto her seat. The man’s eyes were open and unfocused, staring straight out of the sockets, as if he were transfixed by a view. Likewise, his lips were parted, but he wasn’t breathing—
Suddenly, two guard dogs flashed by her, silent canine missiles, and then a pair of guards arrived, their heavy footfalls seeming to crash into her. Without preamble, she was picked up by two heavy hands and moved over as if she were as inanimate as the dead man.
“I saw something out here,” she babbled to no one in particular. “It was him, moving fast. The blond hair caught my eye. All of a sudden, he seemed to capture something—but then there was some kind of tussle and I heard this crack and I came running and—”
“Get her inside—”
“I’ll take her in—give me a sec.”
At the familiar voice, Lydia looked up. Gus had run out of the house, and as he dropped down and took hold of the guard’s wrist, he seemed tense and professional.
Glancing up, he shook his head; then he focused on her. “Come on, Lydia. Come with me.”
Things became a blur at that point. Then again, every time she blinked, she saw the guard’s face, so handsome, so static. When her awareness properly checked in again, she was sitting at the breakfast table, in the alcove off C.P.’s industrial kitchen, the light fixture that hung from the ceiling glowing softly. The scent of coffee drifted over to her, and so did a volley of conversation that was hushed and urgent.
Clearing her throat, she said, “Where is Daniel—”
“I’m right here.” There was the scrape of a chair, and then he was by her side, his hand on her back. “Are you okay?”
She didn’t know what she said to him. She hoped it was reassuring.
Gus was the one who brought the coffee. Two mugs—one for her, one for Daniel. Then the doctor disappeared and came back with a Coke for himself.
“What happened out there?” he asked.
Lydia shook her head and glanced across at the man. “I don’t know. You were with Daniel in the bedroom, and I figured I’d give you both a little privacy. I went out to move the car around to the garage… and I saw something out on the lawn…”
She had a feeling this was a story she was going to have to repeat to many people. Just like Daniel did with his list of symptoms.
Abruptly, she closed her mouth and looked through into the kitchen. A pair of men were standing off to the side, their guns drawn, their mouths pressed to communicators mounted on their shoulders.
“You—you know,” she stammered, “I sometimes thought that all this security of hers is overdone—”
“It’s not.”
Lydia glanced over her shoulder. C.P. had come into the alcove from the other side, and it was weird. She was only half dressed, a loose fleece on top—wait, wasn’t that something Gus wore around the lab sometimes? And why was she barefoot?
“Are you going to let Sheriff Eastwind know?” Lydia blurted at the woman who was in charge.
Not that she particularly cared about the answer—it was more something she felt like she should ask, just to show she was comprehending the common reality. One thing that was nice about being on the fringes of humanity because of her mixed blood? She didn’t feel the need to worry about the particulars—and something told her that C.P. might very well handle this in her own way.
“We’ll take care of everything,” the woman replied in a level tone.
Bingo—
All at once, C.P. came into sharp view, as if Lydia’s attention were a camera lens that was finally being operated properly after a period of incompetence. The other woman seemed pale and frazzled, but then again, there was a dead guy on her lawn. Except… there was something else that was off about her, something that was so much more than her wearing a total mismatch for her fine, formal slacks.