The Awakening

Chapter Eight

A sweltering, setting sun cast the dreary neighborhood in a muggy haze. The reflection off the blacktop patches on broken concrete roads could blind a person and added to the smothering heat, but Gaby didn't move from her position at the front of her apartment building. Sweat dampened her scalp and pasted her hair to her forehead, temples and neck. Even though she'd cut it, her hair still felt too thick and smothering.

Sunglasses in place, flip-flops kicked to the side, she sprawled boneless on the scabrous steps and surveyed every inch of the surrounding area. For the past four nights, she'd tried to go back to the isolation hospital. Each time she had to alter her plans, knowing someone followed her.

Detective Cross?

Morty?

Or someone, something, else?

Sleep became elusive, as did peace of mind. Her thoughts twittered with too many possibilities, too many questions. For once, she begged for a calling from God, a summons to attack, a divine guide to the evil that plagued her.

No summons came.

She wanted to curse God, but it wasn't easy. Commination against Him stuck in her throat. Her faith was such that if He didn't send her after the demon, she knew there had to be a reason.

It just sucked that the reasons were never in her understanding.

As Gaby pondered her quandary, a shadow climbed the stairs and crept over her.

Already sensing whom she'd see, she glanced up, and there stood Luther Cross. Too tired and strung out to care, she diverted her gaze away again.

Dressed in another button-front shirt and tidy slacks, he sank down to sit beside her. "You are one hard woman to track down, Gaby Cody."

Her first and last name. What else did he know of her? "Drop dead." Mentally, she retracted that order, just in case He was listening—which she doubted. God couldn't be bothered with such pettiness. She just didn't want to take any chances. Her soul had blackened enough already.

"I'd rather not, thank you. And I'd rather not arrest you, but I will if you make me."

"Yeah?" Stiffened arms braced behind her, Gaby tipped her head back so that the sun caressed her throat. "For what?"

"Assaulting an officer?"

In her tautened position, the laugh sounded more like choking. "An officer who molested me?"

He chuckled—and Gaby felt his gaze on her chest. "Touché. Not that anyone would believe you."

Too drained to measure her words, Gaby straightened and asked, "Why not? Because I don't have anything to grope, or because you have a pure aura? We both know you still did it."

For half a minute, Luther remained utterly silent. Gaby listened to the rumble of engines and the quieter thrum of tires on pavement as cars went past. She heard the muted congestion of voices across the street, a few doors down, at the end of dark alleys. She heard doors opening, a dog barking, and off in the distance, the lone but not unfamiliar wail of a siren.

"Okay." Luther propped his forearms on his knees. His eyes narrowed and his brow pinched. "Let's skip the strange comment for just a second to clear up something else."

"If you insist."

"Yes, we both know I did it, no way for me to dispute it. But we both also know that's not why you ran from me."

"When did I run?"

"A few days ago. With blood on your neck." His jaw flexed. "After you tried to unman me."

Her smile quirked. "Listen up, cop. If I'd tried, you'd be a choirboy. Believe it."

Luther accepted that without expression. "So why'd you run?"

Sighing, Gaby knew she couldn't lie. She had run, he'd seen her, so denying it would do no good. But her reasons would remain her own. Curious, she asked, "Why do you think?"

Without missing a single beat, Luther stated, "You know something about the murder and you don't want to tell me."

Well hell. Gaby took off her sunglasses and scrubbed at her eyes. She had to throw him off that scent somehow. "Yeah, you've got me dead to rights, officer. I know all about it."

"Don't be a smart-ass, Gaby. If you saw something that night, it's your duty to tell me."

"My duty." How ludicrous that sounded.

Luther firmed even more. "If you're afraid of retaliation, I can protect you."

That brought about a genuine laugh—of amusement and bitterness. "If you want to think so, who am I to say otherwise?"

His irritation hit her in waves. "What exactly does all that sarcasm mean?"

Time to run away. Again.

But before she'd even gotten her ass off the step, Luther blocked her. "I won't let anything happen to you, Gaby. I swear."

Temper snapping, she rounded on him. "Good God, man, don't be a complete imbecile. You can't protect me. I'm the one who—"

She cut herself short on that awesome disclosure. Breathing hard, she stared at Luther and saw his fascination, his interest. Oh God.

Rot out her tongue. Make her mute. Let her faint. Something.

But the only thing that happened was Luther's puzzled frown. "You're the one who… ? What? Murdered that old man? Mutilated his body?" His voice deepened to a feral growl. "Lopped off his damn head?"

Shaken, depleted, Gaby pulled herself to her feet. She stared across the street as she asked, "Where'd you get that idea?"

Slowly, Luther stood too. "I didn't. Have that idea, I mean. I was being facetious."

"Oh. Good." She needed to go inside. No. One glance at the dreary entrance and she knew there was nothing in there but her restless thoughts. She started across the street instead, going where, she didn't know yet.

Just away from Luther Cross.

"Let me tell you something right now. Gaby. You're a nanosecond away from being arrested."

Gaby waved that away. "Leave me alone. You're nuts."

"I will arrest you."

"No you won't."

Growling again, he warned, "Don't try me."

Gaby stopped, but didn't turn to face him. "What do you want, Luther?"

She counted five heartbeats before he replied.

"Having you say my name is a start. But I have questions, and I want answers."

Over her shoulder, Gaby took his measure. "What kind of questions?"

"The kind best handled in conversation instead of at the station with you in handcuffs."

Another tired sigh almost took away her knees. She moved two steps closer to him. "You were telling the truth? No one would believe me if I told them what you did?"

He stepped closer, too. "I don't know, but is it worth the effort when you look so beat?"

It didn't take her long to decide to give in. "Come on. I'll buy us Cokes and we can sit by the playground."

"The same playground you used to lose me last time." But he fell into step beside her.

Neither of them spoke. When she reached Chuck's, she went to the window and gave their order. "Anything else?" she asked Luther.

"I'm good."

Yeah, he was. The colorful sunset enhanced a large orange halo encircling him. Optimism, strength. He had both in spades. He'd make a good teacher, a capable leader of others.

Gaby dug two bills from her pocket and paid for the drinks. The cans must've sat in ice because they dripped frosty chips, and when she popped the tab, a fog escaped.

After a deep drink, Luther put a fist to his mouth to muffle a belch and said, "Good. Thank you."

Gaby rolled the cold can over her forehead and, knowing he'd follow, went up the street to an empty bench. With each step she examined the playground. Metal equipment wore shades of rust. A cracked wooden swing offered splinters to an unknowing hiney. But the few children still at play didn't care. Shirtless, most of them shoeless, they mellowed as evening approached, carefree, unaware, and happy.

Just as they should be.

Gaby's stride kicked up brittle leaves. The sun sank further into the horizon until lengthening shadows encompassed everything. Most of the kids would head home now. Others, more neglected, would linger or wander off to different, less puerile amusements.

Gaby stopped by the chain-link fence. As lampposts flickered on, mothers called their offspring home, their voices carrying on the stagnant air.

The youthful crowd thinned—and an older crowd crawled out.

The nightlife started, and with it came a force of hookers, dope dealers, drunks, and thugs. Gaby started to sit.

"Careful."

Luther used the toe of his shoe to nudge away a dead, dried-up mouse curled around the bench leg. She felt much like that critter—used up and frangible.

Cradling her canned drink in a loose hold, Gaby plopped down. "So. You on duty?"

"I got off an hour ago."

"And came to see me." She pushed her sunglasses to the top of her head and indulged a slow drink. "You do realize how pathetic that makes you, right?"

"You think so?"

"Definitely." The thought occurred to her, and spilled off her tongue. "Don't you have a wife tucked away somewhere, or at least a significant other you could hassle instead of me?"

"Sorry, I don't have either." He didn't smile, but he didn't frown. "What about you?"

"No wife."

That got a chuckle out of him. "Good. Husband, significant other? Now or… ever?"

"No."

An odd inquisitiveness gleamed in his dark eyes. "How old are you. Gaby?"

"Just turned twenty-one."

"Just?"

"I met you on my birthday, Cross. Now what kind of queer gift is that, do you think?"

"I didn't know."

That seemed to bother him. "'Even if you had, so what? It doesn't mean anything." Except that she'd survived another year, and that, perhaps, was something worth celebrating.

"I thought you were older."

"Do I have wrinkles?"

"No, but you have older eyes. Eyes that have seen some ugly things."

Gaby groaned at the absurdity—and truth—in that. "Let's cut the melodramatic crap, okay? Between that and the heat, I'll puke."

His halfhearted smile came and went. "All right. Then I'll start with my first question. You said your mother died birthing you. So who raised you?"

Tracing her fingertips through the sweat on her can gave Gaby something to look at other than him. "The state."

"Always?"

"Yep. I had a few foster homes, but they didn't last long." She pressed her thumb inward, denting the can. "I was too weird for normal people to put up with." She glanced his way. "I freaked people out. They didn't want me around their real kids. They didn't want to be around me."

"Maybe as a kid you misinterpreted things."

"No. They spelled it out." Hell, she could still hear the conversations in her head, blunt, to the point, but not deliberately cruel. It was too hot to shrug, so she simply said, "I didn't blame them. I was weird enough that even I realized it."

Luther watched a bird light on the sidewalk in front of them, snatch up a bug, and then take flight again. "I think you're unique, Gaby, but I wouldn't call you weird."

"That's 'cause you're weird, too." She looked him over. "Why else would you have groped me?"

Exasperated, Luther plunked his can down on the sidewalk and turned on the bench to face her. "All right, since in typical female fashion, it keeps coming back to that—"

"Typical female fashion? Me? Now you're delusional."

"I groped you because there's some sexual chemistry going on between us."

Gaby worked up a believable gag. "There, you see? I told you. Heat. Bullshit. It's a combo guaranteed to turn my stomach."

"You do it to me even when you're gagging." He held up his hands. "But I'm practicing a 'don't touch' policy. At least until I figure out what you're hiding."

As straight-faced as could be, she said, "I'm not hiding anything."

"And I'm a saint."

"Sexual chemistry." The words felt funny on her lips, sounded imbecilic, but still, they stirred her mental acquisitiveness. "Explain that."

"Explain what?"

"This… sexual chemistry stuff. What is it?"

"You're pulling my leg."

"I can kick your leg if you want. But I'm not pulling on it."

He scoffed, but not with conviction. "You're telling me that you don't know what sexual chemistry is?"

She didn't like the implication that she was stupid. "Fine. Forget it. It's not like I really give a shit anyway."

He caught her arm, and quickly released her. "Don't go off in a huff. I didn't mean to insult you. It's just… It's hard to believe a twenty-one-year-old-woman could be so…"

"Stupid?"

"Innocent."

Gaby blinked at him as she absorbed his accusation, and on the third blink, her eyes narrowed with rage. "There's nothing innocent about me."

"Have you ever had sex?"

She didn't really mean to, but she punched him. Right on the chin. And because she hadn't realized her intent, he'd had no way of anticipating it. If he'd had a glass jaw, he'd have been out for the count. As it was, his head snapped to the side and in the same movement, he surged off the bench in a rage.

"Goddamn it, woman. Stop attacking me!"

Impervious to his upset, Gaby didn't stand. She didn't even flinch. She looked at him, at his heaving, his flared nostrils and red face, and the strangest thing happened.

She snickered.

Luther looked ready to shoot sparks out of his head. And that amused her even more.

She patted the bench beside her. "Sit down, Detective. I promise I won't hit you again. At least, not without provocation."

He appeared more inclined to choke her, but when she patted the seat again, he dropped down. Jaw jutting forward, he warned, "I mean it, Gaby. Keep your fists to yourself or we're going to end up at the station."

"Yeah, yeah. I got it." Still amused with him, she slanted him a look. "No, I've never fucked anyone. Truth is, I've never been kissed, either. Other than your big paws, no guy has touched me. So maybe that explains why you bring out my anger. I just don't get you."

That all hit Luther in an odd way. He went mute. And something, some strange emotion filled with perturbation and energy, emanated from him.

He leaned into her space. "Never?"

"Nope."

"Not even a peck?" Skepticism kept his eyes narrowed and his gaze precise. "Maybe on the cheek?"

"Nope."

Thoughtful, he sat back, took a drink of his Coke, and after a few nods of understanding—for himself, not her—he zeroed in on her again.

Very intent, he launched into explanation. "Everyone has… nuances—a way of walking or talking, emoting, that draws other people or repels them. Every so often, you run into the right people—or maybe in your case, just the right person—who reacts to what you have. Whatever it is. Scent. Attitude. Expression."

He had to be kidding.

"In your case, I think it's all three. Your attitude definitely does it for me."

"Does it for you?"

"Stirs me. Turns me on." Expression bordering on helpless, he shook his head. "At times, I swear, you wreck me, I can't explain it. But I like it."

"Pervert."

He laughed. "Yeah, maybe."

"All that makes you sound like a damn masochist."

"Doesn't it though?"

"Everything you said sounds like a bunch of hooey to me."

"Yeah, well, it sort of did to me, too. I guess it's not something that's easy to explain or decipher."

"My scent?" Without looking away from him, Gaby turned her head and sniffed at her own shoulder. She detected soap, a little sweat, and that sun-warmed aroma that came from being outdoors for an extended time. "I don't smell bad, but I'm not exactly a flower, either."

"Really?" Utilizing great caution, moving very slowly, Luther leaned forward. "Let me see."

Gaby's heart did a funny little flip.

By infinitesimal degrees, Luther closed the distance between them until his nose touched her ear.

She heard the rise of his breathing, deeper, richer. He made a small sound that she took as earthy pleasure—and then he jerked away, and said nothing. He swilled the rest of his Coke.

"Well?"

Luther shook his head. He ran both hands through his hair, tugged a little, looked away into the distance. "Yeah." He cleared his throat. "Not too bad, I guess."

She didn't understand him at all.

"And people think I'm flaky." When he said nothing more, Gaby looked across the street at two whores strolling along in amicable conversation. "What about them?"

As if glad of a distraction, Luther focused on the two women in comparable stages of calculated undress. "They're hookers. What about them?"

"You telling me it's their smell that draws the customers and earns them a living? Because I have to tell you, I've walked past a few of them and they sometimes stink to high heaven."

He choked on a laugh. "No, it's not their smell. Sometimes sex is just sex, with nothing else involved." He paused to ponder his own words. "Actually, I'd say that's usually all it is. With a business transaction, that'd be the case."

She eyed him. "I take it you have experience?"

Appalled, he pulled back. "Not with hookers, no, thank God."

He'd grilled her, so Gaby had no qualms about reciprocating. "With other women who aren't hookers?"

Querulous disapproval stiffened his shoulders and tightened his expression. "This is an extremely peculiar conversation."

"You started it."

His sigh held a note of frustration. "Fair enough. Yes, I have experience. For Christ's sake, Gaby, I'm thirty-two. It'd be more than odd for me to be a virgin."

She supposed that made her more than odd.

He must've realized the same. "I didn't mean… Look… Surely you've learned enough about sex from television and music to know how most men operate."

"I'd say you were unlike most men." She could be a master of understatement. "But it's a moot point anyway. I've never owned a TV and I've never been a fan of music."

He did another double take. "You've never owned a television?"

"No. When I lived in foster homes, they had them, but I wasn't exactly invited to curl up with the others at family time." And it was safer to keep to herself.

Luther sat very still, just looking at her, enrapt. His hand lifted and he touched her hair. In a benign voice laced with tenderness, he whispered, "You keep cutting little pieces out of me, Gaby, and you don't even need that machete you carry to do it."

An alien sensation unfurled in her belly. It left her unsettled, even a little shaken. She slapped his hand away. "Keep your mitts to yourself, cop."

Rather than take offense, he smiled. "I gather the subject of sex is over."

"You got another subject?" Night air settled over her, cooling her overheated skin. In the playground behind them, the crickets came out to sing in tandem with other insects. The night should have been peaceful, but Gaby knew too much to ever be fooled. "Because if not, I should get going."

"Where?"

She had no idea. "Away from you." That'd be the first priority.

"Fine." He let out an aggrieved breath and, all business, settled back into the bench. "What do you know about cancer?"

The question hit Gaby like a cruel blow, deadening her wits.

"Well, well," Luther murmured, "there's an honest reaction for a change. I take you've known someone with cancer?"

For lack of a better response, she said, "What's it to you?"

"The man who was murdered—"

"Yeah, you told me." She didn't want or need to hear the lurid details again. "He had cancer."

"He more than had it. He was eaten up with it."

Gaby eyed him. "Listen, Detective. I'll admit the whole sex talk thing was interesting. Maybe even a little educational. But now you're just boring me." She did not want to talk about cancer.

"Boring or not, I expect an answer."

She could see that he did. Even a good guy like Luther Cross couldn't be dissuaded from his course, especially not when he thought he had just cause for a interrogation. What that cause might be, Gaby couldn't guess.

Deciding it'd be best for her to give him what he wanted so she could then seek solace away from him, she nodded. "Sure. I know cancer."

Brows coming together, Luther frowned at her. "You say that like it's a living thing, an acquaintance you've made."

"And you think it isn't? Trust me, cancer is very alive—alive enough to massacre without mercy."

Laying his arm along the back of the bench, Luther studied her for several terse moments before drawing some conclusion. "Convince me that it's alive."

"Do your own damn research."

"I'd rather get your perceptions. Or can't you back up that statement with explanations?"

Gaby snorted at the challenge, but she wouldn't back down. She finished off her Coke, crushed the can in one fist, and tossed it a few feet away to an overflowing trash receptacle.

"Good shot."

"Thanks." She sprawled out further. "The docs have fancier names for it, but when you break it all down, cancer is nothing more than rebel cells. Real ass kickers with the ability to populate out of control."

"Metastasize."

She shrugged. "Call it what you want. I call it a siege, a long-term, decimating invasion that lasts until death."

"Sounds right to me," Luther agreed.

In acknowledgment to the detestable topic, Gaby's voice went low and cold. "Normal cells have a life span. The old die off to make room for the new. But cancer isn't normal. It gets stronger, jacking up into great ranks, invading and wreaking havoc. Cancer's a son of a bitch, robbing from normal tissue until body parts, and eventually the body, dies from deprivation."

Luther kept a close watch on her as she spoke.

"Occasionally cancer shows mercy and snuffs away life before people realize what's happened. It spares them the excruciating, violent process." Her muscles tightened. "But most times it lacks any humanity at all, slowly and methodically eating away at sanity and strength."

Luther stroked her hair, the side of her throat. She flinched away, but of course that didn't stop him.

Memories had her breathing hard and fast even as it dropped her voice to near nonexistence. "Cancer rots organs and bores holes in the brain until disillusionment takes over. Where a good soul used to be, cancer leaves behind a shell."

In the far reaches of her consciousness, she felt Luther's caring touch. "You've put an awful lot of study into this, Gaby Cody."

"No," she whispered back. "I haven't studied it." She fixed her gaze on him instead of the abominable images from the past. "I lived it."

Apprehension cleared his face of all other expressions. "You've had cancer?"

Misleading him hadn't been her intent. "Worse." It would have been so much easier if she'd been the one wasting away. And more appropriate. "He was a very good man who I cared about."

"A friend?"

"Sort of." They hadn't been friendly in the typical way. They didn't share chitchat or have dinner out. Father had been a mentor, guiding and counseling her, often serving as her conscience, her parental influence, and her only confessor.

Strangers strolled by, rambunctious with too much drink. A woman's stagnant perfume hung in the air, and a man laughed too loudly at nothing at all.

"He was a very good person." Gaby waited until the strangers had passed. "Cancer killed him."

"I'm sorry."

"Why? You didn't even know him."

Again, Luther teased his fingers through her hair. "I get the feeling there haven't been many people you've cared about. Losing someone is always hard, but doubly so if you don't have anyone else."

Like a scalding cauldron, emotions tried to bubble up and over. But therein lay weakness and lack of caution. Careful, Gaby, she warned herself. Don't let a simple dose of concern turn you all mushy and talkative.

To free her hair from Luther's fingers, she slouched sideways into her seat and turned her face away. "Anyway," she said, "cancer's not contagious, but it sure as hell affects everyone who comes into contact with it. I was just one of millions who got to know it on an intimate level."

The silence that fell between them helped amplify the night sounds. Somewhere down the street, a fight broke out. A bottle broke. Loud music competed with rank cursing. Running footsteps retreated.

Into the stillness came the rustle of Luther moving closer. "You cut your hair, didn't you?"

At a loss how to deal with him, Gaby chose mockery. "Now see how observant you are? Nothing gets by you."

"It's a lot shorter and not all that even. Anyone could figure out that you cut it yourself."

"Few enough people even look at me, Detective, and no one else would pay any attention to my stupid hair." She barely paid any attention to it.

"Why did you cut it?"

"Would you want long hair hanging down your neck and getting in your face with the temps we've had?"

His gaze slipped over her, warm and tactile. A second later, his thumb followed the same path. "That blood I saw on you… you have a mark here now." His thumb brushed the spot. "It wasn't there before. Is that from the cut that made you bleed?"

"Jut a nick from my hair-cutting efforts."

"You hair wasn't cut then."

He really was attentive to details. "I'd damn near slit my throat. I decided I should wait till morning." And other things had taken precedence.

"So instead of a trim, you chose to thump on me?"

Sitting still for so long didn't suit Gaby, not like this.

Not with a man.

Out in the open.

Pulling her legs up to sit Indian style, she struggled to get comfortable. "You got in my way that day. That's all."

"A deadly bad mistake, apparently."

His humor proved nearly as addictive as his kindness. "Anything else, detective?"

"Yeah, one more thing. But I doubt you'll want to cooperate, so I want your promise up front that you won't resort to violence."

"I make no promises." Gaby stared at him, waiting.

"Such a tough nut."

He didn't show any real concern for bodily injury, but he did hesitate, giving Gaby an unspoken warning that she wouldn't like his new subject matter.

"You told me your mother died birthing you. That lightning struck her."

"God Almighty." Before he could even think about stopping her, Gaby surged from the bench. "Are all cops as freakin' hard-hearted and intrusive as you?"

Uncaring whether he liked it or not, she began striding away.

But she couldn't stop the flow of words spurred on by ire. "Isn't anything sacred to you?"

"Gaby, wait."

"Fuck you, cop."

"I said wait, damn it."

"Why?" Walking backward allowed her to sneer at his face as she withdrew, "You want to dig up any other unpleasantness for me? Wanna talk about my years in foster homes, or how the other kids all hated me and called me a freak?"

"No." He looked annoyed with her.

"Why the hell don't you just poke me with a stick, you coldhearted bastard? What gives you the right to dig into my life anyway?" Because he was getting closer, she turned back around and lengthened her stride. "It's no wonder this town is in such sad shape when the cops waste time—"

A hand on her arm snatched her around. Luther had caught up quicker than she realized. She collided hard against his big, solid body.