No Man's Land

40

ROGERS SLOWLY BLINKED himself awake.

Next to him, Davis slept on.

He rubbed the back of his head and tried to make sense of what had happened between them.

But he couldn’t. He had always imagined that he had left humanity behind when they had changed him. And he had thought having sex with a woman impossible.

Before he’d viciously killed a man in a bar fight and gone to prison for ten years, he had killed others. Only he’d never been caught. He had no fear. But he also had nothing else that would inhibit him from taking another’s life.

He had read of serial killers who were missing something critical in their frontal lobes. It was the significant difference that made one normal or made one a monster. Just a piece of DNA lacking or forming the wrong sequence. Or a lobe not quite as developed as it should be. You went from mainstream to Jeffrey Dahmer.

And that’s what they did to me. I was born right and they made me wrong.

But ten years in prison had given Rogers something he thought he would never have. An opportunity to be away from anyone he might have otherwise killed. A buffer of bars and guards. It had given him time to think, to regain a measure of control.

He turned on his side and studied the sleeping Davis.

What had surprised him, when he finally thought about it, was that he had no impulse to harm her. But he had to remind himself that he had killed the couple in the alley only when they tried to kill him. And Donohue the gun dealer would still be alive if he’d just stayed in his truck eating his Mickey D’s.

And I let the boy live.

He rubbed his eyes and wondered whether what was apparently happening to him was a good thing or not. After five minutes he had no conclusive answer.

He looked at his watch. It was nearly eight o’clock. The sun was shining brightly. Davis was still sound asleep next to him.

He once more marveled at her beauty. And then he looked down at his hands. Scars. He lifted his shirt. More scars. He touched the incision on his head. The biggest scar of all.

The analogy was obvious, Rogers thought: Beauty and the Beast.

He climbed back into the driver’s seat and looked at himself in the rearview mirror.

For so long as he could remember he had looked just like this.

Not his features. That was obvious enough.

No, it was the look in his eyes.

Haunted. Crippled. Hungry for something I’ll probably never get.

“Paul?”

He turned to see Davis rise and start dressing.

“Yeah?”

“I need to get home.”

“Okay. I’m ready. Let’s go.”

She climbed into the passenger seat. As he started the van she reached over and kissed him on the cheek.

“What was that for?”

“Do I have to have a reason?”

“I guess not.”

“We need to do this again. Really soon.”

“You think that’s smart?”

“I don’t care if it’s smart. It’s what I want.”

She gave him directions to the destination. He didn’t know if it would be the rental on the beach or the fortress where the owner had taken a dive into expensive cobblestones.

It turned out to be the fortress.

As they neared the destination, Rogers began to panic a bit. What if Jericho was here? What if, despite all the years, she recognized him?

When Davis directed him to the front gates he said, “Damn, after what you said about the problems with your parents, I wasn’t expecting something like this.”

“It is a little much. But I hit the jackpot. The people who adopted me are really, really rich.”

He stared at her, dumbstruck. Ballard had adopted her? So he’d killed her father? “So you live with them here?”

“That’s right.”

“But I thought you said you were on your own? That you didn’t have anybody?”

“I didn’t really know you back then. Now I do. A girl has to be careful.”

“I guess so.”

He couldn’t fathom why Ballard’s death seemed not to have made a dent in her. And he didn’t see one cop car or one bit of police tape. Weren’t they investigating the man’s murder? What the hell was going on?

The gates opened as they approached. A guard came out, and when he saw Davis he motioned for Rogers to drive through.

Rogers didn’t look at the security guards as he passed by, though he noted in his peripheral vision that they were scrutinizing him.

Davis directed him where to park. She opened the door.

“Can I pay you for taking me all this way?”

“I think you already paid me more than I deserved.”

She smiled. “That was a nice thing to say. You want to come in?”

The panic returned. “No. I better get back. But thanks.”

“Okay, I’ll see you at the Grunt, I’m sure.”

“You better let Mr. Quentin know you got home safe.”

“Like he cares,” she scoffed. She leaned across the seat and placed a firm kiss on his mouth and then inserted her tongue into it.

Rogers had the impression that multiple eyes were watching this. Still her lips felt sweet and salty and seemed to perfectly mesh with his.

The next moment the car door closed and she disappeared inside.

That’s when Rogers heard the knock on the glass.

He turned to see one of the security team there.

“You got a minute, sir?” the man asked crisply, the expression on his face unreadable. He motioned for Rogers to get out of the van.

When Rogers looked around he saw five more men all carrying MP5s along with serious expressions. They had surrounded the van in the few seconds between the kiss and Davis going inside. That was impressive, he thought.

He wondered if what was going to come next would be equally so.

Rogers opened the door and stepped out.