couldn’t say the ridiculous word out loud. He groaned inwardly and took a deep breath. Tried again. “I’m an angel. ”
Silence. Not even a flicker of a question from Adam’s mind.
Custo sighed. “I know. I know. Sounds absurd. I don’t expect you to believe me when I don’t believe it myself, but there it is. The only way you’re going to know either way is to trust me. I’m asking you to trust me.”
Silence.
Jacob had loved to play games with Adam’s memories, to trick him into painful recollections of times when life was full and whole. Custo refused to do the same—to pull out their shared past to manipulate his friend. Not that Adam would be moved. He had learned to turn a deaf ear to the insidious ramblings of a wraith in a cell, the clever pleas for release, though the wraith had the voice of his brother or long-lost friend.
Dropping his arm back on his knees, Custo sighed. He could feel Adam’s presence on the other side of the concrete, a bright condensation of identity. Adam couldn’t afford mistakes. If the world were anything like it had been before, there was no way Adam could take a chance on him.
Adam’s mind came to a decision.
Custo brought himself to standing as the lock released on the cell door.
“I want a lawyer. You’ve got no right to hold me against my will!” Annabella yelled at the slit in the wall of her weird holding cell. It was worse than the prison cells she’d seen on TV—cold, nondescript gray, like an awful basement, with only a shitty folding table and a shitty pair of folding chairs. At least the room was somewhat lit. If she stayed near the door, she should be fine. The dim corner on the other side was out of the question. It seemed like the kind of place the wolf would hide. She wanted her flashlight to burn him out.
She slapped the palm of her hand on the table to make some noise. In the concrete room, the slap was like the report of a gun.
“Hello, damn it! I’m frickin’ exhausted in here!” Her voice was rough and shrill. She was terrified out of her mind, cringing at the least little thing. If she were getting sick from all this Custo crap, she was going to kill him. Kill that Adam bastard, too. She should have never agreed to share that cab. “I want a lawyer!”
Annabella dragged a chair around to the bright side of the table. The damn thing started to collapse into itself and she had to fight with the seat to get it properly unfolded again. She banged it on the floor when she got the seat open, and lowered herself carefully onto it.
“I. Must. Chill,” she said aloud. Obviously no one was listening to her. “I must chill. I must stay calm. I perform in”—she calculated the number of hours before she’d be onstage—“twenty hours-ish. I must keep it together. Deep breaths.” She inhaled until her lungs were bursting, then let out the air slowly. And again. Much better.
She glanced over her shoulder at the slit in the concrete. Screw it. “Get me out of here!” Her screech broke on here, the type of sound that shattered glass, but it didn’t do much to the concrete. She’d have to try harder.
This was so not happening. She looked around herself again.
“Maybe I’ve gone completely insane.” Sure seemed more plausible than any other explanation. “That’s it. I’m insane. This is not a prison cell; this is a padded room in some very low-budget hospital. I am not being hunted by a wolf—that’s only a manifestation of all my fears and stress. And that man Custo is…”… my hottest fantasy come to life. See? Crazy.
Concrete scraped loudly against concrete. Annabella stood, knocking her chair onto the floor. The huge, thick door retracted. She felt her anger rising again. Whoever was responsible for her unlawful imprisonment was going to get an earful from her. And charges filed with the police. And a civil lawsuit for attempting to ruin her performance.
“I want some ans—” Annabella began. She broke off when the
Silence. Not even a flicker of a question from Adam’s mind.
Custo sighed. “I know. I know. Sounds absurd. I don’t expect you to believe me when I don’t believe it myself, but there it is. The only way you’re going to know either way is to trust me. I’m asking you to trust me.”
Silence.
Jacob had loved to play games with Adam’s memories, to trick him into painful recollections of times when life was full and whole. Custo refused to do the same—to pull out their shared past to manipulate his friend. Not that Adam would be moved. He had learned to turn a deaf ear to the insidious ramblings of a wraith in a cell, the clever pleas for release, though the wraith had the voice of his brother or long-lost friend.
Dropping his arm back on his knees, Custo sighed. He could feel Adam’s presence on the other side of the concrete, a bright condensation of identity. Adam couldn’t afford mistakes. If the world were anything like it had been before, there was no way Adam could take a chance on him.
Adam’s mind came to a decision.
Custo brought himself to standing as the lock released on the cell door.
“I want a lawyer. You’ve got no right to hold me against my will!” Annabella yelled at the slit in the wall of her weird holding cell. It was worse than the prison cells she’d seen on TV—cold, nondescript gray, like an awful basement, with only a shitty folding table and a shitty pair of folding chairs. At least the room was somewhat lit. If she stayed near the door, she should be fine. The dim corner on the other side was out of the question. It seemed like the kind of place the wolf would hide. She wanted her flashlight to burn him out.
She slapped the palm of her hand on the table to make some noise. In the concrete room, the slap was like the report of a gun.
“Hello, damn it! I’m frickin’ exhausted in here!” Her voice was rough and shrill. She was terrified out of her mind, cringing at the least little thing. If she were getting sick from all this Custo crap, she was going to kill him. Kill that Adam bastard, too. She should have never agreed to share that cab. “I want a lawyer!”
Annabella dragged a chair around to the bright side of the table. The damn thing started to collapse into itself and she had to fight with the seat to get it properly unfolded again. She banged it on the floor when she got the seat open, and lowered herself carefully onto it.
“I. Must. Chill,” she said aloud. Obviously no one was listening to her. “I must chill. I must stay calm. I perform in”—she calculated the number of hours before she’d be onstage—“twenty hours-ish. I must keep it together. Deep breaths.” She inhaled until her lungs were bursting, then let out the air slowly. And again. Much better.
She glanced over her shoulder at the slit in the concrete. Screw it. “Get me out of here!” Her screech broke on here, the type of sound that shattered glass, but it didn’t do much to the concrete. She’d have to try harder.
This was so not happening. She looked around herself again.
“Maybe I’ve gone completely insane.” Sure seemed more plausible than any other explanation. “That’s it. I’m insane. This is not a prison cell; this is a padded room in some very low-budget hospital. I am not being hunted by a wolf—that’s only a manifestation of all my fears and stress. And that man Custo is…”… my hottest fantasy come to life. See? Crazy.
Concrete scraped loudly against concrete. Annabella stood, knocking her chair onto the floor. The huge, thick door retracted. She felt her anger rising again. Whoever was responsible for her unlawful imprisonment was going to get an earful from her. And charges filed with the police. And a civil lawsuit for attempting to ruin her performance.
“I want some ans—” Annabella began. She broke off when the
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