“I wanted a place to replicate the wonders of living on the streets without food or clean water, without warmth in the winter or escape from summer’s heat, and with no refuge from the violence of our fellow men. Thanks to a puppet who owned an abandoned warehouse space in North Minneapolis, I had such a place created. It’s fully insulated and climate-controlled. The temperatures drop below freezing at night and climb to a hundred degrees by day. There’s no escape from that, and my guests have only the clothes they wore when I took them. The facility is bare of any human comfort, floored in asphalt, walled in brick and steel—and I’ve
instructed the two board members to treat one another as enemies.
“So you see,” Mesmero spread his hands broadly, “they might not last long enough if we wait to bring all their colleagues to them before starting—but, on the other hand, since I plan to throw you in there with them, I don’t want to deprive the late arrivals of the benefits of your presence... if
you
don’t survive so long.”
Breathe, Rachel told herself. Center. Focus. She had to calm her rising dread, her fury, and the panic that could lead to her friend’s destruction.
“That’s very good,” Mesmero told her. “But you won’t be able to stay so calm when you’re alternately freezing and frying, surrounded by men programmed to attack each other. Your talent won’t stop any of that—but your fear, your panic and suffering will add to theirs. You won’t be able to do anything but make it worse for them as they suffer and die at one another’s hands.”
She’d already called him a monster. Rachel could think of nothing worse to call him. His actions defined him. Evil acts made him an evil man. She stared, taking note:
so that’s what evil looks like
. So ordinary. Such an ordinary-looking man, with no room for anything but self-justified malice scowling from his eyes.
“Stop looking at me like that,” he snapped at her.
She turned away, checking on Tamara and Tom. The dark stains on Tamara’s bandage had turned rusty brown at the edges. The blood seemed to have stopped flowing. Tom had closed his eyes, apparently asleep, sitting up in his chair.
Mesmero rose abruptly. “I’m going upstairs. Tom, you rest up. Let me know when you’re able to transit again safely. Yoga girl, you keep an eye on your talented friend here. Don’t go throwing any parties while I’m gone.” He giggled as he left the room.
~ * ~
David cut the connection with Fluke when the police arrived at the ashram. Fluke approached his Lake Street exit from the highway and wondered why he bothered heading for the ashram. Rachel wasn’t there. David and the police would check it out for any clues as to where she’d been taken, along with Stanton and Tamara. But Tom could have taken them anywhere.
Fluke doubted even his extra dose of luck would help find anything the police overlooked. His video of Mabel’s phone call still hadn’t produced results. The target had probably been moving around too much for his phone to be traced.
He had to think outside the boxes other people had covered. He had to think like Johnson—but he didn’t have a clue what that head case could want with Rachel. She calmed explosive situations. Her talent lay in her gentleness. That seemed at odds with Johnson’s apparent motives.
Unless he needs to soothe his intended victims.
Not likely
. Fluke dismissed the thought. Maybe he just wanted her as a hostage—to keep the Team off his back if they got too close??
In any case, it didn’t seem she could be part of any well-thought out plan. Johnson had probably grabbed her to get to Tom, then kept her because it had seemed expedient somehow. Maybe he’d stashed her somewhere expedient too?
What did they know of Johnson’s movements? He’d been at the ashram. He’d been close enough to put someone on their tail as soon as Fluke had left with Rachel on their way to the casino. He’d been at or near Mabel’s house at that time. After making Mabel his puppet, he’d probably gained access to her house. Rachel had mentioned it being right around the corner from her place…
Just a theory, but easy enough for him to check it out.
Fluke checked the case database for Mabel’s address, and when he reached Rachel’s street he drove on past the ashram to find a parking space near the corner of the cross street—a couple doors away from Mabel’s place.
Mabel drove past him and pulled into her own driveway. Floodlights lit the car port to make the whole vicinity as bright as day.
He exited his car and sauntered up the walk to meet her as she exited her vehicle.
“You are following me!” she confronted him.
“I have a friend in the neighborhood.” He held up his hands, showing them empty. “But I noticed you pass me and pull in here just now—and that explains the coincidence—I set out from here and you must have set out at the same time. Since we both headed for the casino, that’s why we each thought we were being followed.” He gave her his best charm-the-ladies grin. “But it was Fate, Mabel. Fate threw us together.”
She laughed. “You’re a tease, young man. I saw the redhead with you at the casino—anyone could see you were sweet on her.”
He threw open his hands again. “You’ve got me there, Mabel, but now I’m here, I have to confess I like what you’ve done with your place. I have a bit of interest in landscape design. What are those on the trellises by the window? I don’t think I’ve seen climbing roses that color before.” He approached the side of the house as he pointed out the feature. Light streamed from the windows, illuminating the roses growing beside the frame.
Mabel followed along. “Those are Blue Moon roses—really more of a violet. Aren’t they nice? That’s as close as they’ve come to an actual blue rose…”
While Mabel went on to tell him about the roses and how she’d fallen in love with the idea of a blue rose when watching a Douglas Fairbanks Jr. remake of a Douglas Fairbanks Sr. silent movie,
The Thief of Baghdad
, Fluke moved closer to the roses—and peered through the window behind them into an empty living room where he could see Mabel carried her
love of roses into her decorating scheme.
“No one would guess you were such a romantic, Mabel,” he told her as he edged around the trellis of blue roses to the next window and its trellis. “Peace Roses,” he noted. “I recognize these. My mother loves them.”
“Oh yes. They’re my next favorite and I love the way they look beside the Blue Moons—you can see I’ve alternated them all along this side of the house.”
“Very nice.” But it wasn’t. Through this window he spotted Rachel. She sat tied to a chair. Thank God. He hadn’t realized how tightly strung he’d grown until the tension rushed out of him at the sight of her. Only to be replaced by a new urgency. He had to get her out of there.
Tom Stanton slumped in another chair. Tamara—he’d recognize that head full of gold streaked dreads anywhere—sat near the head of the table, facing the empty living room, her gaze fixed blankly on nothing.
Rachel’s chair sat beside his window, open only a hand-span’s width to the fresh air of the pleasant June night. Nearly dawn in fact, the horizon clearly paler than the surrounding night sky.
“Rachel!” He whispered sharply.
“What are you doing peeping in my windows?” Mabel raised her voice. Rachel turned her head toward them.
Why did he get only a sense of grim determination from her, when she should be excited to see him—to see the prospect of rescue at least—and freedom.
Fluke turned to Mabel. “You might want to see this,” he told her. “There are people in there.”
“What? I live alone!”
Mabel stood just tall enough to peer over the sill from outside, while Fluke stood aside to give her space.
Mabel sputtered. “What are you people doing in my house?”
“It wasn’t my idea.” Rachel answered her, shrugging as far as her ropes allowed. Tom never twitched and Tamara only blinked
“Are you tied to that chair, young woman?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Those are my good Hepplewhite chairs!” Mabel stopped, apparently in thought, turned to Fluke. “Maybe we should call the police?”
“Hey, wait. Let me talk to Fluke.” Rachel called through the window.
Fluke leaned into the window, frustrated by the screen and the narrowness of the opening. “Why shouldn’t we call the police and the rest of the Team to get you out of there
now
?”
“Those board members—we don’t know where he’s got them stashed and he set them up to die. If you leave us here, he plans to take me to where he’s got them—you can follow.”
“Not if he teleports.”
“He wants Tom to go after more board members. He says his facility is located in North Minneapolis—a former warehouse space. I think he’ll take me by car—” She cut off his attempt to protest, “And if you try to take us out of here I don’t know what it’ll do to Tamara or Tom.”
“They say Longo’s doing okay, better anyhow, since they brought in the TP Healer—”
“I don’t want to put them through it,” she hissed. The determination he sensed from her grew harder, backed by a degree of steel he’d scarcely glimpsed in her before.
“I don’t want to put
you
through it,” he hissed back. “It’s too dangerous.”
“I’ll be okay,” she told him. “Those two board members might not be. Mesmero—”
“Mesmero?”
“Johnson.” She shrugged again. “It’s a thing for him. Anyhow, right now he’s upstairs. There’s time to coordinate the Team and police to move in on the warehouse when we find it.”
“Let’s see what your brother says about that.” He suspected David wouldn’t be any more inclined than he was to keep Rachel in such a dangerous position. He turned to ping the Team coordinator. But just then Mabel called out, entering the house. She must have left his side while he’d been arguing with Rachel.
“Who are you people? What do you think you’re doing, sitting around in my dining room?” Mabel held what looked to be a Smith and Wesson semi-automatic. “I don’t care if you are tied up.” She addressed Rachel. “None of you belong here.” The muzzle wavered back and forth between those seated at the table.
Oh, Mabel.
Fluke groaned inwardly. Rachel gave him an accusing look.
“I’m not the one pulling her strings,” he whispered.
Tamara only blinked, but Tom stirred at last. “What’s going on?” he asked.
“How much do you remember? Rachel asked him.
“Everything up until I took my nap.” He looked around the room, “But it seems like a dream… There’s something I’m supposed to do…”
“Hey!” Mabel spoke sharply. “Answer me! What are you doing in my house?”
Rachel turned and used her talent to calm Mabel. Poor woman. Mesmero had brought this circus to her quiet home and she couldn’t have any idea how he’d messed with her life—and her head.
“See these ropes,” Rachel inclined her head to indicate the ropes binding her arms to the chair. The lady didn’t seem to be thinking too clearly. She repeated herself, hoping the concept would get through this time. “None of us is here because it’s our own idea.”
Before she could explain further, footsteps sounded on the stairs and Mesmero appeared behind Mabel.
“Put down the gun,” he told her.
Mabel obediently set the weapon on a sideboard next to a flowered porcelain teapot. “So you’re the one responsible for all the commotion.” He scowled at the woman whose home he’d invaded.
Rachel glanced sidewise to the window. Fluke had ducked out of sight.
Mesmero continued. “You’re supposed to be tailing the other Talent. What are you doing back here?”
“He came back,” Mabel said.
“He came back to the ashram?” Mesmero didn’t wait for a reply. “He must’ve gotten worried about his partner, come looking for her.” He turned to Tom. “Think you can handle another trip?”