Thank God, he hadn't asked for her ID or even her name. If she became known in the area, she'd have to move on.
Again.
Blaming him for the excess of her pain, Gaby glared, and he began walking backward, moving away from her while keeping her in his sights. Gaby watched, waiting for him to round the corner, to go about his business, whatever that business might be.
He didn't. When he reached the drunk still sprawled on the walkway, he stood over him a moment, then knelt down and helped him sit up. Gaby's eyes widened. Damn it, the scuffle in front of the bar was
The drunk's friends staggered forward, and with horrified realization, Gaby watched as the detective began to grill them all.
She didn't trust that cop, not even a little. She considered intervening, but…
With Detective Cross no longer a threat, the real menace throbbed throughout the air like a thundering heartbeat, consuming her. Had she missed her chance? Was she too late after all?
Would she have to carry the pain for days instead of a couple of hours?
She couldn't bear that. She wouldn't bear it. Somehow, she'd make it on time.
No cop had ever succeeded in halting her activities. She'd be damned if she'd let one get in her way now.
Teeth clenched, Gaby replaced her glasses over her eyes and broke into a hobbled run. At first, the agony nearly crippled her, but exerting herself physically helped give the pain guidance into her legs and lungs. Her stride became more fluid, faster. Through a deeper precognition, she followed her way to the trigger much as a dog trailed a scent.
Without tiring, without bumping into people or hazarding traffic, Gaby ran the length of the narrow street.
She saw no one, felt nothing.
Noise surrounded her, but beyond the slapping of her flip-flops and her own coarse, grating breath, she didn't hear a thing.
Less than a mile into her run, Gaby's urgency for speed waned, as did the pulse of life. Devoid of traffic, conversation, and children at play, an eerie stillness pervaded the area. No drunks fouled the air with insults. Birds didn't sing. The air stilled.
Gaby glanced around. Startling silence roared in her brain; she drew a strained, heavy breath.
Sweat glued her hair to her forehead and sealed her shirt to her flesh. In the furthest recesses of her mind, Gaby still felt the burning of her muscles and the tripping beat of her heart, but she remained unaffected by physical dominion.
In front of her, looming dark and still, an abandoned factory lured her. Determination and duty carried Gaby up the slight incline, over broken glass, sharp twigs, and crumbling concrete. Dead, moldered bugs crunched beneath her feet.
At the oily remains of an old discarded engine. Gaby paused. She was close. With each step she took toward the bulky, blackened brick face of the factory, the more her vision blurred. Eventually, she knew she'd see only vague outlines haloed by constantly shifting colors, tints, and hues to guide her actions and infuse her with necessary information.
Her feet moved by rote, taking her to a burned-out lot that butted into a decaying woods, concealed at the back of the building.
The core of the misery nestled here.
Bile burned in Gaby's chest, her pace lagged—and then it seized her in its awful, unrelenting vise. For too many heartbeats, the choking impact squeezed her gangling body. A futile cry gurgled in her throat before she regained herself, accepting the pain and deciphering its instruction.
Reflective heat undulated from the asphalt, seeping through Gaby's rubber flip-flops, sealing her within the pain so that it was a part of her, and her a part of it.
Forcing her heavy, plodding limbs to move, Gaby circled around the minacious face of the structure. Black as sightless eyes, broken windows stared at her. Her breath came in silent wisps, inadequate to feed her starving lungs.
The horror of what she knew she'd find shrieked in her brain.
She didn't want to do this.
But, oh God… she knew she had no choice.
She never did.
Chapter Three
A chaotic inferno of rich colors—bloody red, darkest brown, and writhing black—danced frenetically before her. The turbulence of the twisting hues indicated pain and fear, but not just pain and fear from the hapless victim. Such an explosion of color could only emanate from more than one person.
Where?
Standing near a putrid Dumpster ripe with the stench of rot, feeding maggots, and refuse, she saw the sobbing child. Narrow arms stretched out, trying to fend off a nightmare of hideous features.
With the plethora of enraged colors indicating many things, Gaby tried to clear her vision, to better see through the auras to the physical features of the attacker. But still she saw… things she didn't quite comprehend or believe.
Sure, monsters existed. She knew it because she'd sent plenty of them to hell. But to the world, they looked like everyone else. They looked normal. Only with her divine talent did she see an exterior that matched their rotted souls.
But this time, she saw more.
She saw teratoid deformities. Gruesome. Inhuman. Sickening…
Revulsion raced up her spine as she stared in slack-jawed distaste at the target. Yes, she'd been summoned to this… this… whatever it might be.
Tall, but obviously old with a hunching posture that nearly bent the emaciated body in half. Bowed legs seemed inadequate to support the frame, and gnarled hands sported short, fattened fingers that gave the appearance of mittens.
Gaby swallowed convulsively. Aged, wrinkled skin bunched and puckered on the cheek and forehead, making room for a violation of odd fleshy protrusions. Except for the quivering, gelatinous blobs of vein-riddled, dimpled flesh that clung to the side of its head, the form appeared human.
A wail of sheer terror snapped up Gaby's attention. She looked beyond the creature and focused on the little boy.
Did he see the figure the same as she did? Did he realize that which tried to defile him wasn't human? Did that poor little boy comprehend the demon in the guise of a barely human form?
Visually as well as mentally, Gaby was accustomed to perceiving the truth. But this little boy wouldn't be.
How could he bear the sight of the awful dastard?
Kids and animals generated much pity. They were so sweet and pure, they couldn't comprehend the brutal depravity often heaped upon them.
Sounds passed Gaby's ears: needy, gulping whimpers mixed with unintelligible pleas, and finally helpless mewling. In her present state, the words were indecipherable, but she understood the appeal.
The kid, who couldn't have been more than eight or nine, begged for help and a justice that only she could give. He was hurt and horrified, but evil hadn't gotten what it wanted.
Not yet.
It only toyed with the boy, frightening him, setting him up, weakening him with raw terror. She still had
