Playing with Fire

I managed yet another inch, but my arms shook more with every second that passed; my knees knocked with such force my entire body vibrated. Stay strong.

“I’m not going to hurt you, “ he soothed.

“Yeah, right. I watch TV, you know. Every homicidal killer says that, especially when they’re holding a syringe.”

“I happen to mean it.”

Yeah. Sure. He didn’t deny being a killer, I noticed. “I bet the CIA and FBI are looking for you. You’re probably known as the Phantom Needle and you’ve done this to hundreds of women.”

“Think about what you’re saying. Please. You would have heard about something like that on the news. I’m a government agent.”

I shook my head and fought a wave of dizziness. “You targeted me because I was sick and too weak to fight you.”

“Then why didn’t I hurt you while you were sleeping?”

Good question, and one that gave me pause. “Why do you want to inject me? What were you going to inject me with? And don’t say medicine. I won’t believe you.”

A muscle ticked beside his left eye. Instead of answering, he asked me a question of his own. “How do you think you’re able to erect that air shield? I know you’ve never done anything like that before.”

I managed one more step before my body once again froze in place. This time, however, I couldn’t force myself back into motion. My muscles were like stone, heavy and hard. I ground my teeth together in an attempt to draw on a reservoir of strength I simply didn’t have.

I wasn’t going to escape, I realized with despair, and there was nothing I could do about it. A sense of helplessness bombarded me. Infuriated me. Scared me.

“You drank the formula, “ he said. “Whether you know it or not, you drank it. You have powers now. Powers a lot of people want to exploit.”

“What formula? I didn’t drink anything. I swear.”

“Denying it doesn’t change the facts.”

“I didn’t!” As I shouted, my knees gave out. I collapsed onto the floor, yet somehow managed to keep my arms up. But the shield began to shimmer, no longer quite so solid. My heart tripped against my ribs, speeding up, then skipping a beat altogether. “I didn’t,” I cried weakly.

“You work at Utopia Café, do you not? A café that sits across from an unmarked building. A brownstone.”

I paled, I know I did. My mouth went dry. I didn’t nod, but then, I didn’t have to. He knew about me. Had he followed me? Watched me?

Never taking his gaze from mine, he backed away from the shield, from me, and eased into the green velvet recliner in the corner of the room, unharmed by the fire that had evidently decimated my nightstand. I usually read books in that chair (when I had a rare, spare moment), sprawled out in my nightgown, bundled in thick covers.

I’d never again view that chair as a relaxant, though. He made it appear decadent. A place for carnality. His big body lounged against the curves, his legs stretched out in front of him. You can sit on my lap, his expression seemed to say. I’ll take care of you. I’ll protect you. I’ll pleasure you.

Liar!

I might have believed him, if not for the needle sticking out of his pocket. Not to mention the unnerving intensity in his eyes. They were predator eyes. Eyes that watched and waited for the perfect time to strike.

“Release the shield, Belle. It’s draining you. Release it and talk to me.” Pause. “Please.”

The “please” didn’t sway me. But I was too weak and my arms hurt too much and death was beginning to look like a holiday. Really, he could kill me now and he’d only be putting me out of my misery.

I squeezed my eyes shut for a moment, drew in a deep breath and felt my arms fall to my sides. A part of me kind of expected the air shield to remain in place, to prove I wasn’t the one controlling it. It did remain for a few seconds. Then it wavered again, like waves in an ocean dancing over a beach, only to disappear altogether.

For several minutes, I tried to pull myself up and out of this defeatist position. For several minutes, I failed. I ended up staying on the floor, leaning my forehead against the side of the bed. The coolness of the sheets helped alleviate the feverish burn of my brow.

My shoulders slumped as I gazed at the man. He didn’t pounce. He remained where he was, utterly relaxed. “Want some help?” he asked.

“Don’t come near me.” I panted with exhaustion. God, why couldn’t I sound strong? Menacing?

His dark eyebrows arched, but he didn’t comment. Didn’t point out that he could now do whatever he wanted to me. A long while passed, each minute more painful than the last.

“You wanted to talk to me, “ I said, just to fill the deathlike silence that had enveloped us, “so talk. You mentioned a formula. Does this formula have a name? What was in it?”

“I can’t answer those questions, “ he replied.

“Can’t? Or won’t?”

“Won’t.”

“Why?”

“It’s classified.”

“Let’s see, “ I said, not bothering to raise my head. “I almost died from a formula you said I drank. You tried to ‘neutralize’ me because of it. And now you’re telling me I don’t need to know exactly what it is I allegedly consumed?”

“I’m not going to tell you specifics about the formula itself, but you can ask me something else.”

Fine. I would. “When did I supposedly drink this formula?” Let’s just see if he could formulate a believable answer.

His lips pulled downward in a tight frown, and he regarded me silently. I found his stare unnerving and strangely arousing. I knew I shouldn’t be able to experience any type of arousal in my condition, especially toward this man. And this was the second time he’d made me feel this way! Had he shot me full of some kind of aphrodisiac while I slept? I wouldn’t put such a lecherous act past the needle-wielding, clothes-changing bastard.

“Do you recall a man in a lab coat who stormed into the café a week ago?” he asked.

A week had passed? A whole week? The news hit me hard, dizzying, upsetting. So much time had passed, completely unnoticed by me. But despite the time lapse, I recalled that day very well. Lab Coat had swept into Utopia, created havoc, then left me and everyone else to clean up after him.

“Yes.” I gulped. “I remember.”

“That man is a scientist who ran off with a top-secret experiment, and he poured it in something you drank.”

“That’s impossible. That’s stupid. That’s—a mocha latte, “ I whispered, dazed. Dear Lord. After the chaos at Utopia had died down and Pretty Boy had begun questioning everyone, I’d chugged my too-sweet latte. I hadn’t thought anything of it at the time. Now … I just didn’t know.

“We weren’t sure he’d given it to you. We hoped he hadn’t, of course. Then you didn’t show up for work, which led us to check on you here, where we discovered you were sick.”

“We?” I asked, the word barely audible. There were more men out there like this one? More men who thought I needed neutralizing?

“My employer and I.”

My blood ran cold. Was Pretty Boy his boss? If the CIA wanted me dead, I sure as hell was going to end up dead. “Do you work for the CIA?” I croaked.

“Hell, no. I actually don’t work for the CDC, either. I work for an agency that you’ve never heard of. Paranormal Studies and Investigations. PSI. We’re like ghosts. To the rest of the world, we don’t exist.”

So why tell me? I feared the answer: I’d soon be dead and couldn’t tattle.