The Awakening

Chapter Fourteen

Setting the ink aside, Gaby looked at her last drawing, a depiction of a crazed ghoul dying a deserving death under her hands. As a reflection of her current foul disposition, everything now appeared more intense, bigger, darker, and meaner.

Desire for Luther, foreboding of the strange new evil that taunted her, and rage over her helplessness in both made a strange elixir that Gaby had trouble swallowing. Her appetite had waned, she couldn't keep still, and she desperately wanted God to call her out, to give her the power to do something, anything, other than fret like an old woman.

But hour after hour, no call came.

Worse, with Morty dogging her every step, Gaby couldn't track down the mutant atrocity as she'd like. Twice, she had tried going back to the woods to investigate further the freakish happenings and turbulent apparitions festering there.

But shaking Mort proved impossible. Like a shadow, where she went, he followed.

Allowing him to befriend her had monumental repercussions. In the name of friendship, Mort now felt free to invade her privacy at will. Several times yesterday, he'd come to her door asking if she'd like a meal, a drink, a walk around the block. Twice today he'd done the same, lingering in the hall even after she'd barked orders for him to get lost.

No matter how she tried to dissuade him, Mort remained immune to her need for solitude.

If she sought peace with her thoughts on the front stoop, he joined her in the way of old familiar friends, with nothing much to say, content just to waste an hour together.

With sturdy locks now on the front door and all the windows, Morty even slept with his apartment door ajar—he claimed because the current circumstances had shaken him and he wanted to feel closer to Gaby.

She knew it was so that he could hear her come and go.

The dolt worried for her, and had some harebrained idea about protecting her, probably more from herself than anything or anyone else.

He suffocated her—but she wasn't hard-hearted enough to tell him so outright.

In fact, if it weren't for so much evil lurking, Gaby might have enjoyed Mort's persistent companionship.

To keep from taking her bad temper out on him more than she already had, she spent long hours at her desk, working on a new story. She wrote out her frustrations and illustrated her worries, and the newest volume in the graphic novel series turned out more powerful than any of the others had.

Being a paladin hadn't obliterated her more selfish vices—like pride. She swelled with it now as each picture and chunk of dialogue came together to create a compelling story of personal struggle, physical conflict, and ultimate triumph.

Writing and drawing throughout the night, she finished the piece of pure fiction in half the time it usually took her.

Having a creative outlet helped—except that Mort and the girl from the alley both showed up in key roles in the story, and the possible ramifications of that wouldn't do. Too many details could give her away, especially since Mort was her biggest fan. If anyone ever connected the stories to her, her goose would be not only cooked but eaten and digested, too.

She needed anonymous depictions, not factual ones.

Yet on top of Mort and the girl, Luther's role in the series also expanded into undeniable proportions.

Not that Gaby made the tough-as-nails angel of justice look anything like Luther Cross. As in most graphic novels, his character took on a larger-than-life appearance, with impossibly broad shoulders and an astonishing handsomeness made cruel by edgy determination and a sharp glint in his eyes.

He protected with one hand and wreaked devastation with the other.

The avenging cop in her series was everything Gaby wished the real Luther Cross could be. He saw the futileness of fighting something that had no real boundaries or moral compass, a mutation that could proliferate across families and into friends, could infest minds and bodies as well as souls.

But Luther wasn't that man. He was merely an above-average servant of the law with keen intuition, overwhelming kindness, and a belief in only what he saw and touched.

He'd never really believe in Gaby, not with the farfetched realities of her existence.

Looking down at her hands, Gaby noted new calluses on her fingers and messy ink stains beneath her uneven nails. Assuming Mort would soon return with another song and dance about food or fresh air or whatever else the normal people in the world found helpful in times of stress, she stretched her back, rotated her head on her neck to remove a few kinks and, because she couldn't help herself, glanced at the clock.

Five-thirty.

Luther would show up in thirty minutes.

What to do?

Indecision chewed on the edges of Gaby's satisfaction. Finishing the graphic novel no longer sufficed as a freeing accomplishment.

Driven from her seat by self-loathing and the oppressive heat of the room. Gaby left her desk and moved to the wide-open window. No breeze stirred, but at least the exhaust-fumed air from outside didn't smell of ink and dust and disgust from indecision.

Gaby peered at the cloudless sky, the arid leaves on sickly trees, and the passersby milling in the street. Cars moved by in a blur of colors and the noise level rose and faded in an uneven cadence.

Across the street, she spotted a whore making lewd gestures at a passing group of young men. They returned her invitation with vile insults and kept going, uninterested in what she offered.

The whore didn't seem to mind. She walked a little farther and found another man to target.

He seemed more willing.

Curiosity struck a blow, obliterating some of the other disturbing emotions currently plaguing her. She made up her mind.

She had to get outside. Had to walk and think and…

Investigate. If not the monsters, then something of more interest. Something equally at the forefront of her mind.

If Luther didn't want to wait for her, fine.

Good.

She wasn't at all sure she even wanted him to.

Anxious now that she had a purpose, Gaby went into the bathroom to scrub her hands, cleaning them the best she could. Some ink remained under her nails, so she used the tip of her knife to dig out the stains. Haste made her ruthless and she nicked one fingertip, making it bleed.

Ignoring the small wound, she splashed her face to refresh herself, pushed her hair back, and gave one cursory glance at her very wrinkled and limp clothes.

So she looked like a used dishrag. Who cared?

She sure as hell didn't.

By the time Gaby finished with her meager ablutions, the ink on the last pages had dried. She carefully stored away the story where no one would find it. Tomorrow she'd look it over, and if it still felt right, she'd get it postmarked to Mort.

Mailing off a manuscript was the closest Gaby ever got to eradicating a nightmare.

Mind made up and a lie prepared, she went down the stairs in her normal noisy way. Mort's head poked out his door.

Keeping her stony gaze forward, Gaby said, "No."

Smiling, he came out the rest of the way. "Hi to you, too, Gaby. What are you—"

"No, Mort." Doing her best to block him from her peripheral vision, she kept walking.

"No what?" Barefoot, his hair mangled from an obvious nap, Mort rushed after her.

"No, I don't need company." Gaby unlocked the door and pushed it open. "No, you can't come along anyway. No, I don't need your help." She had one foot out the door. "No, no, no."

"But—"

"Damn it, Mort!" Impatient to be gone before Luther showed up, Gaby swung around and backed Mort up to the wall. "Shouldn't you be running the store?"

"I have a temporary kid helping out today."

Probably so he could keep closer tabs on her. Mort loved his comic store and usually enjoyed running it.

But today, he didn't. So Gaby would have to use the lie. "Remember that little girl from the alley?"

"Little girl?" Blinking fast, Mort nodded. "Uh… You mean the lady you saved?"

Gaby hated how he put that, as if she ran around playing rescuer all the damn time, when nothing could be further from the truth. "She was a kid, Mort, not a grown lady. I doubt she's out of her teens."

"Probably not."

"Well, I'm going to see her." Her chin went up, her eyes narrowed in challenge. "All things considered, I don't think she'll want any men hanging around."

"You know where she is?"

Gaby had no idea. Course, she had no real notion of seeing the girl, either. She only needed to escape Mort's watchful eye. "Not yet, but I'll ask around. I'll find her."

"It's not safe—"

Gaby went nose to nose with Mort. "I. Will be. Fine." The words came out from between teeth clenched tight enough to break.

"Okay, okay," he agreed quickly, hoping to mollify her. "Will you pretty please just tell me how long you'll be gone?"

Maybe if she'd ever had a mother, Mort's overbearing nosiness wouldn't have been so annoying. But she'd never had anyone be so officious, and it left her unglued. "And just how the hell should I know—"

"She won't be long," Luther said from the open doorway.

Gaby swung around to see him. He stared at her, and she felt so guilty she almost shrank away. As promised, he'd dressed casually in jeans and a printed T-shirt that read, THE MEEK SHALL INHERIT THE EARTH—AFTER I'M THROUGH WITH IT.

"Nice shirt," Gaby said.

"She won't be long," Luther said as he stepped into the foyer, "because we have a date. Isn't that right, Gaby?"

Groaning, Gaby seriously considered strangling Mort for holding her up.

Or maybe she'd let him hold her up.

Whatever. The ramifications of her delay sucked. She had Mort chafing behind her, and Luther provoking in front of her.

Without looking at either one, Gaby said to both men, "I'll be back when I'm back," and she shoved her way around Luther.

He let her pass, but damn it, Gaby saw the disappointment on his face, and she saw the damn gift bag in his hand.

A gift. For her?

Never in her twenty-one years had anyone given her anything before. What could it be? Gaby racked her brain for gift-type items, but she was as clueless in that as she'd been in other matters that involved normal people. She couldn't see Luther buying her clothes, and the small bag couldn't have held flowers or chocolates.

Even Luther wasn't lame enough to buy her any jewelry. Any fool could see she didn't wear it.

So… what?

Not that it mattered; whatever it might be, she couldn't accept it.

She didn't dare.

Legs stiff and stride maddened. Gaby went across the sun-baked blacktop street and down a few blocks until the apartment building was out of sight. The nerves in her face pinched and her eyes burned. They were unfamiliar feelings, and she didn't like them.

Heading toward an empty park bench. Gaby trotted on. She was too antsy to sit, so she dropped her shoulder against the metal lamppost in front of the bench, near the curb, and venomously crossed her arms.

The sun baked against her back, dust blew up on her toes, and she sulked in silence until she spotted a hooker. It was the same one she'd seen from her apartment window. The woman leaned into a car passenger window, and Gaby could see her thong underwear.

Disgusting.

The driver, pulled up beneath the shade of a large elm tree, kept the engine idling. Eventually, the hooker opened the door and climbed into the car. The man driving gave a quick look around, then adjusted himself—and pushed the woman's head down.

Gaby narrowed her eyes and, leaving the lamppost, crept forward. She looked up and down the street, darted around traffic, and gained the opposite sidewalk where the car idled.

Not bothering with discretion, she walked up to the driver's window and looked in.

Irritated, irked, and angry, Luther watched Gaby disappear down the street. He wouldn't chase her down. He'd done that enough already.

Mort came up to stand beside him. "I'm worried about her."

"Don't waste your time."

"Can't help it." Hemming and hawing, his hands in his pockets, Mort said, "She's different, ya know? Most of the stuff she does isn't meant as an insult. It's just… she doesn't know any other way."

Luther sighed. "I know."

"You scare her."

Luther grunted.

"I do too, I think, but I'm not sure. Might just be that I annoy her."

Glancing down at Mort, Luther felt compelled to say, "She's lucky to have your friendship."

"Nah. I'm the lucky one and I know it." He stepped back from the door. "You want something to drink? Some coffee? I can put on fresh. While it's brewing I can check the store to make sure the guy I hired is doing okay. It won't take me long."

"Sure." Luther came in and closed the door behind him. "Do you lock this during the day now?"

"Yep." Rattling a keychain that hung from a belt loop on his pants, Mort added, "Gaby and I have keys, but if she forgot hers, we'll be here when she comes back."

"If she comes back." Luther flipped the deadbolt.

"She will." Mort headed into his apartment. "She hasn't eaten all day. Sooner or later she'll show up for food."

Mort went about rinsing out the carafe and preparing more coffee. Luther drew out a chair. He put the borrowed graphic novel on Mort's table. "I finished it."

After glancing back to see what Luther meant, Mort grinned. "Awesome, huh?"

Interesting plotline and characters, to say the least. It was a page-turner, an edge-of-your-seat reading adventure. The illustrations were incredible.

But on one level, elements of the novel had disturbed Luther. "I wanted to talk to you about something, but I need your promise you'll keep it private, especially from Gaby."

Mort went still, his hands hovering over the coffee machine, his shoulders stiff. Then he broke into inane chatter and nervous activity. "Yeah, I mean sure. Let me check the store first and we can talk when I come back."

He rushed off before Luther could decipher the crux of his anxiety. Surely keeping a secret from Gaby wouldn't send him into vapors.

And thinking of Gaby, as if he ever did anything else, what the hell was her problem?

While waiting for Mort to return, Luther simmered in his own discontent. How dare she rush off right before he was due to arrive? It couldn't have been more obvious that she wanted to avoid him, that she didn't intend to honor his wish to take her out.

Damned bothersome brat.

He should give her a taste of her own medicine and leave before she returned.

But she'd probably be relieved, not distressed, and damned if he'd do anything to assist her in her efforts to deceive him.

One way or another, he would figure out the elusive Gabrielle Cody.

Mort inched back into the room. "So." He cleared his throat. "Everything's fine at the store. Lots of sales today. Everyone loves a good graphic novel."

"Good. I'm glad your business is doing well."

Tension eased from Mort's shoulders. He went to a cabinet and retrieved two mugs. "Want a cookie? I bought some at the bakery yesterday. I thought they'd tempt Gaby into eating, but they didn't."

"Tempt her?"

Mort filled the mugs. "She hasn't taken a meal that I know of in two days. I don't know how she stays on her feet."

"That's probably why she's so thin."

"Yeah." Mort set the mugs on the table and opened a drawer to get the cookies. "Probably why she's so surly all the time too."

Luther indulged a cautious sip of the coffee before looking at Mort over the rim. "That's just her temperament and we both know it."

Grinning, Mort shrugged. "I suppose."

"And that brings us full circle. Can I have your word that you won't share what I have to say with Gaby?"

"Yeah, I guess. That is, I mean, she won't ask me about it anyway, right? She won't know that I know whatever you plan to say?"

Luther took his measure. "What's the matter, Mort? Are you afraid she'll beat it out of you if she knows?"

"She wouldn't have to. I'm a sucky liar. Guilt always shows on my face."

Luther flipped over the Servant novel he'd borrowed. "She won't know." He turned the comic toward Mort. "You say you've been reading these for awhile now."

"Yeah."

"Haven't you noticed any similarities?"

"To what?"

Suppressing his suffering at Mort's obtuseness, Luther sighed. 'To Gaby. The heroine in the graphic novel and Gaby share some unique personality traits.'

"No way." Mort looked dumbstruck.

"Yes, way, Mort. Check it out." Luther flipped to a certain page. "I know she doesn't look like Gaby, but haven't you seen that exact expression on her?"

"Actually…" Mort drew the novel around and closer. "Yeah. I have."

Going out on a limb, hoping he could trust Mort, Luther ventured, "Do you think it's possible that Gaby emulates the character?"

Mort's jaw went slack.

"Maybe," Luther continued, "given her unconventional upbringing, she didn't have anyone to look up to, so she chose a fictional character."

"A kick-ass invincible character."

"Exactly."

"Geez. I don't know." Going back to the novel, Mort turned a page, then another. Eyes wide, he gazed up at Luther with crestfallen chagrin. "Anything's possible, I suppose."

"It would explain a lot."

Falling back in his seat, Mort slumped. "Yeah, it would." He rubbed at his eyes. "Only thing is, I've never seen Gaby read the series. I've never seen her read anything, really."

"That doesn't mean she hasn't."

"No. She's so damn private."

"So secretive," Luther prompted. "Here's what I want you to do."

"Do?" New alarm drew Mort back upright at the table.

"Relax. It's nothing to unnerve you." Luther cleared the table between them and leaned forward to engage Mort's confidence. "I want you to keep an eye on her, that's all. Especially when the next novel comes out. After you've read it, watch for similarities between the characters and things Gaby says happen in her life and how she reacts. If you notice anything, let me know."

"Oh." Relieved, Mort composed himself. "Yeah, I can do that."

"Great." Luther glanced at his watch. Gaby had been gone only fifteen minutes, but that put her past the time he'd set. He should leave. Just walk out the door and not come back.

But he knew he couldn't.

Some innate incorruptibility beneath Gaby's ballsy, indomitable exterior compelled Luther to keep chipping away at her defenses.

He finished off his coffee and stood. "I have to go, Mort."

"Go?" Mort rose too. "But where? I thought—"

"I'm going to go find her."

"Oh." Mort followed him to the door. "She won't like that."

Luther grinned. "Yeah, I know."

"But you're going to anyway?"

"That's right." He dug a business card from his pocket. "Do me a favor. If she shows back up before I've returned, give me a call on my cell. But don't tell Gaby."

"If I told her, she wouldn't let me call you."

"Right." Luther clapped him on the shoulder. "Thanks for everything, Mort. You've been a big help."

Morty glowed beneath the praise. "Glad I could lend a hand." He leaned out the door as Luther went down the steps. "Luther?"

Luther turned back. "Yeah?"

"Gaby is a good girl and she has a really enormous heart. It doesn't always show, but it's there." He tapped the business card against his thigh. "To tell you the truth, she's the best person I've ever met."

"I know," Luther said, and oddly enough, he meant it. Then, as much to himself as to Mort, he added, "She's also the saddest. But I plan to change that."

Morty nodded. "Good luck, Luther. I have a feeling you're going to need it."