Synesthesia - Chapter Fourteen
Dec. 13th, 2011 06:50 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dracoqueen22a/n: Definitely approaching the end here. Shit just got real, folks. *grins*
Title: Synesthesia
Rating: T (for violence and language and some gore)
Description: Ethan has lived with his gift -- hearing emotions as music -- his entire life. And he's learned to cope with it. But when a serial killer makes a home in his town, and he's contacted by different groups all wanting to make use of his ability, he finds himself dragged into the thick of things. And all he wants to do is be left alone.
[Back to the Beginning] [Previous Chapter]
“Ethan.”
“Mmph.”
“Ethan, wake up.” A hand fell on his shoulder, shaking him out of a swampy sleep.
He waved his arm to chase away the annoying intruder. “I'm awake.”
“Then take the phone!”
Ethan reached blindly for said device, pressing it to his uncovered ear. “ 'ello?”
“Ethan?”
He searched his brain, trying to place the voice, but sleep fogged his ears and turned his thoughts to mush. “Uh... Anna?”
“Nope. Sheila.”
Ethan groaned into his pillow. “What do you want?”
“Say... you're not busy today, are you?”
He rolled over, rubbing his eyes with his free hand. “I have class. And so do you for that matter.”
“No, you don't,” Sheila corrected him. “Professor McKenzie was killed yesterday, remember?”
Actually, he had forgotten.
Sighing, Ethan peeled his eyes open. It was very bright in his room, so it had to be late morning, nearly afternoon. He had missed a lot of work as of late, and if their “plan” was going to work, Ethan supposed he needed to get back to his normal routine.
“What time do you need me?” he asked tiredly. He did need the hours. A serial killer trying to chase him down didn't stop the need to pay his bills.
Sheila sounded far too cheerful at his question. “By one. Sound good?”
“What time is it now?”
“11:30.” Despite the phone, Ethan could hear her giggling at him. Damn, she was actually perky. Maybe he'd be better served staying at home.
“Fine. I'll be there,” Ethan answered, and then hung up the phone before Sheila could say anything else. It was enough that she knew he was coming.
Tossing the phone to the floor where it bounced a couple times, Ethan threw his arm over his eyes. He didn't feel like dealing with humanity today. He knew his shields were like swiss cheese. He would definitely have a migraine by close.
Ethan lay in his bed for several minutes before forcing himself to get up. Frankly, he was exhausted. They'd stayed up late in the night making plans and coming up with some kind of strategy more workable than “don't die.”
Running his hand over his hair, Ethan rose from the bed and fought off a yawn. He'd shower first and then venture downstairs for something to eat. He was sure Mel and Jaiden were around here somewhere, but if he could have some alone time, that would be nice.
Thirty minutes later, he'd showered, dressed, and headed downstairs, where he found himself staring at an unusual sight. Sitting around the dining room table was his family – new and old alike – but joining them were Jaiden and Melanie. The former was loading his pancakes with a disgusting amount of syrup while the latter crunched noisily on bacon as she chatted amiably with Ethan's mother.
Chrissy was bombarding a very patient Jaiden with questions, none of them remotely related to his job, his reason for being there, or his abilities: the Transformers seemed to be the subject of the moment. Ethan's mind, not yet quite fully awake, boggled.
Darryl, for his part, read his newspaper as though this noise was an everyday thing.
“Morning, Ethan!” His mother greeted as she piled more pancakes on a plate. “You're up early.”
He rubbed at his eyes, half-wondering if he were dreaming. “Super Mart called me in,” he explained, taking the last unclaimed seat at the table. “I gotta leave in twenty minutes.”
Darryl looked up from the newspaper. “You can take my Chevy.”
“No, he'll need my Jeep,” Jeanine corrected, dishing out a few strips of bacon and setting the plate in front of Ethan. “Jaiden and Mel will be going with him, right?”
“Yes,” Jaiden answered, spearing a chunk of pancake that dripped syrup back onto the plate.
“Thought so,” Ethan's mother replied and plunked herself into a seat, reaching for the orange juice.
This was too damn surreal.
Ethan picked up his fork. “You are all taking this way too well.”
“I think it's cool,” Chrissy piped up, all bubbly flutes and pipes that echoed cheerfully in Ethan's ear.
“You're still you,” Darryl added with a rustle of his newspaper. “Nothing's changed.”
Looking down at his plate, Ethan felt oddly warm inside.
“... Thanks.”
o0o0o
“I'll monitor things from out here,” Jaiden explained, gesturing toward the roof, which was where Ethan wouldn't want to be on a hot afternoon. “My backup should arrive later today so try to stay out of trouble.”
Ethan rolled his eyes. “Like I have any control over that.”
“Meanwhile, I'll be on the inside blending in with your customers,” Mel added with a thumbs up.
Why didn't Ethan feel relieved? There was a rolling curl of nausea in his belly that wouldn’t go away. A sense of worry that made his heart pound while his pancakes sat like lead in his stomach.
He sighed, shoved his keys in his pocket and strode toward the store. “Let's just get this over with,” Ethan muttered, tugging on the collar of his polo shirt.
A puff of wind at the back of his neck signaled Jaiden's departure. Mel skipped merrily alongside him, as though they were heading into an amusement park rather than Ethan's place of employment.
No one noticed the telepath as Ethan stepped through the doors, throwing a greeting to the MOD, or manager on duty. He clocked in and nearly got run over by Sheila who was rushing out of the front office as though her ass were on fire.
“In a hurry?”
She rolled her eyes, pushing past him. “Don't even start, Ethan. You've no idea what today's been like.”
“I think I can hazard a guess,” Ethan muttered, glancing at the trashed front end, scattered plastic bags and crumpled receipts strewn across the floor while half the bag racks were empty and the candy displays looked devastated.
The door to the office slammed closed behind Sheila. “Register four.”
“I know,” he sighed, and turned toward said till.
“And Ethan?”
He paused on his way to the register and turned back toward Sheila, who shifted from foot to foot in sheer discomfort.
“I'm sorry to hear about Dray.”
Ethan's insides twisted a bit more. “Thanks.”
She whirled back toward her work and Ethan did the same. He flipped on his light, signed on, and called the customers over. He glanced over and Melanie waved to him from the courtesy bench. No one noticed she was there, such was the power of telepathy.
Ethan shook his head and greeted his first irate customer of the day. This was sure to be a long shift.
Even longer without Dray.
o0o0o
One hour in and Ethan had to call for Sheila. Everyone was paying with cash and his till was going to lock up sooner rather than later.
Looking exhausted, keys jiggling in her hand, Sheila worked her way next to him. She crouched to pull his money out, bumping into him in the tiny space. Ethan grimaced, anticipating the massive influx of unfiltered emotion to add to the already noxious noise attacking his ears.
Instead, everything went silent, as though Mel had grabbed him again. The loud crowd of emotions vanished, leaving Ethan with a sense of numbing disquiet. Only Kinetics had ever made him feel like this.
What the hell? Sheila was a Kinetic? Why hadn't he noticed before? Since when? But he'd heard her emotions before!
“If she's untrained...” his mind helpfully supplied, “then her control would slip.”
She couldn't be like Ethan then, or Melanie either. She wouldn't have stayed sane without some shields. She must be like Jaiden. A master of an element.
“Like water,” a traitorous part of him whispered.
No. That was impossible. Blond, bubbly Sheila a murderer? That didn't make any sense at all.
“Ethan?”
He blinked. Sheila was looking at him, blue eyes full of confusion. “Are you all right?”
“Sorry,” he said, shaken. “Just a headache. You know how it is.”
She handed him his paperwork to sign. “Do you want to take your break then?”
“Please.” His head was throbbing, mind awhirl. He needed a moment to process.
“Sure thing.”
Ethan signed the pick up sheet and handed it back to her. Their fingers brushed with another arc of silence. He gritted his teeth, pain mixing with a healthy dose of worry.
He could be wrong. He wanted to be wrong.
Sheila cut off his light and as soon as he had finished with the last customer, Ethan abandoned his register. He caught Melanie's eye, gesturing for her to follow him down an aisle. She did so, worry and confusion wrinkling her brow.
“What's going on?”
“Why didn't you tell me Sheila was a Kinetic?” Ethan demanded, careful to keep his voice low as they passed customers.
“Because she's not.”
“Then why couldn't I Hear her?” Ethan hissed, raking an anxious hand through his hair. He felt rattled, knocked askew, and he didn't like the sensation one bit.
Melanie frowned. “Maybe that block is still working. Everything's muffled, right?”
“Yes...” Ethan worked his jaw. “But I can still Hear. With her, I got eerie silence.”
They paused at the end of the aisle, just in front of the double doors to the back room. A stocker pushed a float past them, laden with goods.
“Afternoon, Ethan,” Stephen greeted with a tip of his head. “I'm sorry about Dray, man. That's just terrible.”
“Yes, thank you. Because being reminded about it often is just what I need to heal,” Ethan snapped, crossing his arms.
Stephen held up his hands in surrender. “Chill, man. I didn't mean to offend,” he said, and pushed his float out of the way. “Next time I'll keep my condolences to myself.”
He walked away with a creak and a rattle of the float, leaving Ethan to grind his teeth in peace. And feel just a tad bit guilty for snapping at someone who didn't deserve his ill temper.
“So?”
“So what?” Ethan replied, uncrossing his arms. “Apparently, I'm just losing my mind.”
Mel popped her gum. “Calm down, okay? You've had a hard week.”
“Easy for you to say.”
She sighed. “Look. Take your break. I'll take a closer look at Sheila. Deal?”
“Whatever.” Ethan was too tired to push it anymore. He waved Mel off and went toward the back room, where he could get hold of himself in relative peace.
He bought a Sprite and a Twix from the vending machines and put his head on the cool table. His skull continued to throb, ears ringing with noise, the memory of Sheila's ominous silence in the back of his mind.
His thoughts wouldn't stop churning. Maybe he was losing it. Nothing had been normal for weeks now. He was getting paranoid, seeing danger where it wasn't.
Ethan really hoped that was the case.
o0o0o
Fifteen minutes later, his migraine had lightened to an annoying but bearable twitch. He guzzled his Sprite, chowed down his Twix, and decided to make a quick bathroom stop before heading back up front.
He cut through the stock room to save himself some time, and that was when a blast of chilly, cigarette-tainted air hit him. Ethan paused, head swinging toward the Receiving Door, which was propped open. Something distinctly against policy.
Maybe Gene had forgotten to close it again. Loss Prevention would have his head for that. Especially if someone had taken it upon themselves to sneak out the open door for a smoke break.
Ethan altered his course. If no one was there, however, he'd be the good Samaritan that saved Gene from an ass-chewing.
He rounded the corner and peered out the door. To his surprise, Sheila was standing there, a cigarette held between two fingers and pressed to her lips. Smoke formed a wispy wreath around her head before the wind whipped it away.
What the hell? When did she start smoking? She'd always turned her nose up at it before, lamenting the fact that smokers got smoke breaks while non-smokers were shafted.
“Sheila?”
She turned toward him, pushing off the rusty railing that had served as a back rest. “Back from break already?” she asked with a smile so friendly, Ethan was suspicious. It looked nothing like her usual smiles, holding a razor's edge.
“Something like that.” Ethan dared draw closer, head cocked, straining his senses and pushing his Empathy to the limits. If Mel was right, then all he had to do was concentrate. “I didn't know you smoked.”
She exhaled smoke in his general direction. “We're just coworkers. I'm sure there's a lot we don't know about each other.” Her voice was tight. Ethan didn't like it.
He also didn't like the fact he couldn't Hear anything from her. Not a murmur, not a trill, not a single beat of bass.
“True,” Ethan said, palms feeling a little damp. His stomach churned, and he unconsciously surrendered a step. “Say... you've heard about the serial killer, right?”
“Who hasn't?” Not even a flicker of worry or fear. “What about him?”
Ethan took another subtle step backward. “Nothing much... just tossing theories around,” he replied shakily. “It's almost supernatural. Like X-Men or something.”
Sheila took another drag of her cigarette. “Or it's just bombs.”
“That, too.” She wouldn't do anything here, would she? “Do you believe in that sort of thing?”
Blue eyes narrowed. “Like what?”
“Oh. I don't know. Like reading minds or telling the future.” Ethan looked at Sheila, meeting her gaze with a boldness he hadn't known himself to possess. “Controlling the elements. Maybe even water.”
Sheila chuckled and flicked her cigarette to the ground, grinding it out with her tennis shoe. “I wondered when you'd figure it out. A little bit slow on the uptake, aren't you, little Empath?” Her voice was silky and sly, like a anthropomorphic cat.
For once, there was a situation where Ethan had hoped to be wrong. He didn't bother to hide his step away this time. There was a door about ten feet behind him, swinging into the meat department. He just had to get there before Sheila worked her magic.
“It's you. You're the one killing all those people?”
Sheila shrugged. “Yeah, you could say that. Shocker, isn't it?”
“Why?”
“Why not?” She sounded amused, gleeful even. As though she were enjoying herself way too much. “Everything else in this town is so boring anyway. I just thought I'd liven things up.”
Ethan paled. “You're crazy.”
“Sanity is all a matter of perspective, Ethan. Just like evil.” Sheila laughed, stepping back into the store, one arm bracing itself on the door frame. “But you'll come to learn that soon enough.”
It sounded like a threat. One she could back up.
Ethan told himself to run. He sent the commands to his feet. He tried to move, but only succeeded in twisting his torso. His limps felt like lead, as though they'd been poured into concrete. He broke out into a cold sweat.
“You can't kill me here,” he said, licking his lips nervously. “There are cameras.”
“Kill you?” Sheila giggled, leaning languidly against the frame, examining her painted fingernails. “That's not part of the plan. At least, not yet anyway. You're far more valuable alive right now.”
Ethan started to trembled, though his legs wouldn't obey the urge to flee. “I just have one question,” he said, hoping to stall, hoping that if someone else walked back here, their appearance would distract Sheila, give him room to run.
“Why did I do it? Because that's an easy one.”
“No.” Though he'd like to know that, too. “Did you kill Dray?”
Sheila's smirk widened. “I may have had a little fun with him. It's not my fault he wasn't strong enough to survive it.”
Ethan stilled before rage swamped everything else. Blinding him to the fear and the panic and everything else coursing through his veins.
She admitted to it, blandly, as though it didn't matter. She didn't care that she'd killed his best friend, that she'd killed a lot of people. Not an ounce of guilt or remorse showed in her eyes. She looked proud of herself.
Ethan shook, but not out of fear. Not anymore. “You--”
Clank!
Stars danced in front of Ethan's eyes as pain exploded in the back of his head. His knees buckled – free from their concrete prison – as he slid to the floor.
What..? Who...?
“Are you okay?” Stephen's voice.
“I'm fine,” Sheila sounded annoyed. “Don't kill him, Stephen. We need him alive.”
Ethan slid into darkness.
* * *
a/n: Two more chapters yet to go. Feedback is always welcome and appreciated!
[Next Chapter]
Title: Synesthesia
Rating: T (for violence and language and some gore)
Description: Ethan has lived with his gift -- hearing emotions as music -- his entire life. And he's learned to cope with it. But when a serial killer makes a home in his town, and he's contacted by different groups all wanting to make use of his ability, he finds himself dragged into the thick of things. And all he wants to do is be left alone.
[Back to the Beginning] [Previous Chapter]
---------------------
Chapter Fourteen
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Chapter Fourteen
---------------------
“Ethan.”
“Mmph.”
“Ethan, wake up.” A hand fell on his shoulder, shaking him out of a swampy sleep.
He waved his arm to chase away the annoying intruder. “I'm awake.”
“Then take the phone!”
Ethan reached blindly for said device, pressing it to his uncovered ear. “ 'ello?”
“Ethan?”
He searched his brain, trying to place the voice, but sleep fogged his ears and turned his thoughts to mush. “Uh... Anna?”
“Nope. Sheila.”
Ethan groaned into his pillow. “What do you want?”
“Say... you're not busy today, are you?”
He rolled over, rubbing his eyes with his free hand. “I have class. And so do you for that matter.”
“No, you don't,” Sheila corrected him. “Professor McKenzie was killed yesterday, remember?”
Actually, he had forgotten.
Sighing, Ethan peeled his eyes open. It was very bright in his room, so it had to be late morning, nearly afternoon. He had missed a lot of work as of late, and if their “plan” was going to work, Ethan supposed he needed to get back to his normal routine.
“What time do you need me?” he asked tiredly. He did need the hours. A serial killer trying to chase him down didn't stop the need to pay his bills.
Sheila sounded far too cheerful at his question. “By one. Sound good?”
“What time is it now?”
“11:30.” Despite the phone, Ethan could hear her giggling at him. Damn, she was actually perky. Maybe he'd be better served staying at home.
“Fine. I'll be there,” Ethan answered, and then hung up the phone before Sheila could say anything else. It was enough that she knew he was coming.
Tossing the phone to the floor where it bounced a couple times, Ethan threw his arm over his eyes. He didn't feel like dealing with humanity today. He knew his shields were like swiss cheese. He would definitely have a migraine by close.
Ethan lay in his bed for several minutes before forcing himself to get up. Frankly, he was exhausted. They'd stayed up late in the night making plans and coming up with some kind of strategy more workable than “don't die.”
Running his hand over his hair, Ethan rose from the bed and fought off a yawn. He'd shower first and then venture downstairs for something to eat. He was sure Mel and Jaiden were around here somewhere, but if he could have some alone time, that would be nice.
Thirty minutes later, he'd showered, dressed, and headed downstairs, where he found himself staring at an unusual sight. Sitting around the dining room table was his family – new and old alike – but joining them were Jaiden and Melanie. The former was loading his pancakes with a disgusting amount of syrup while the latter crunched noisily on bacon as she chatted amiably with Ethan's mother.
Chrissy was bombarding a very patient Jaiden with questions, none of them remotely related to his job, his reason for being there, or his abilities: the Transformers seemed to be the subject of the moment. Ethan's mind, not yet quite fully awake, boggled.
Darryl, for his part, read his newspaper as though this noise was an everyday thing.
“Morning, Ethan!” His mother greeted as she piled more pancakes on a plate. “You're up early.”
He rubbed at his eyes, half-wondering if he were dreaming. “Super Mart called me in,” he explained, taking the last unclaimed seat at the table. “I gotta leave in twenty minutes.”
Darryl looked up from the newspaper. “You can take my Chevy.”
“No, he'll need my Jeep,” Jeanine corrected, dishing out a few strips of bacon and setting the plate in front of Ethan. “Jaiden and Mel will be going with him, right?”
“Yes,” Jaiden answered, spearing a chunk of pancake that dripped syrup back onto the plate.
“Thought so,” Ethan's mother replied and plunked herself into a seat, reaching for the orange juice.
This was too damn surreal.
Ethan picked up his fork. “You are all taking this way too well.”
“I think it's cool,” Chrissy piped up, all bubbly flutes and pipes that echoed cheerfully in Ethan's ear.
“You're still you,” Darryl added with a rustle of his newspaper. “Nothing's changed.”
Looking down at his plate, Ethan felt oddly warm inside.
“... Thanks.”
“I'll monitor things from out here,” Jaiden explained, gesturing toward the roof, which was where Ethan wouldn't want to be on a hot afternoon. “My backup should arrive later today so try to stay out of trouble.”
Ethan rolled his eyes. “Like I have any control over that.”
“Meanwhile, I'll be on the inside blending in with your customers,” Mel added with a thumbs up.
Why didn't Ethan feel relieved? There was a rolling curl of nausea in his belly that wouldn’t go away. A sense of worry that made his heart pound while his pancakes sat like lead in his stomach.
He sighed, shoved his keys in his pocket and strode toward the store. “Let's just get this over with,” Ethan muttered, tugging on the collar of his polo shirt.
A puff of wind at the back of his neck signaled Jaiden's departure. Mel skipped merrily alongside him, as though they were heading into an amusement park rather than Ethan's place of employment.
No one noticed the telepath as Ethan stepped through the doors, throwing a greeting to the MOD, or manager on duty. He clocked in and nearly got run over by Sheila who was rushing out of the front office as though her ass were on fire.
“In a hurry?”
She rolled her eyes, pushing past him. “Don't even start, Ethan. You've no idea what today's been like.”
“I think I can hazard a guess,” Ethan muttered, glancing at the trashed front end, scattered plastic bags and crumpled receipts strewn across the floor while half the bag racks were empty and the candy displays looked devastated.
The door to the office slammed closed behind Sheila. “Register four.”
“I know,” he sighed, and turned toward said till.
“And Ethan?”
He paused on his way to the register and turned back toward Sheila, who shifted from foot to foot in sheer discomfort.
“I'm sorry to hear about Dray.”
Ethan's insides twisted a bit more. “Thanks.”
She whirled back toward her work and Ethan did the same. He flipped on his light, signed on, and called the customers over. He glanced over and Melanie waved to him from the courtesy bench. No one noticed she was there, such was the power of telepathy.
Ethan shook his head and greeted his first irate customer of the day. This was sure to be a long shift.
Even longer without Dray.
One hour in and Ethan had to call for Sheila. Everyone was paying with cash and his till was going to lock up sooner rather than later.
Looking exhausted, keys jiggling in her hand, Sheila worked her way next to him. She crouched to pull his money out, bumping into him in the tiny space. Ethan grimaced, anticipating the massive influx of unfiltered emotion to add to the already noxious noise attacking his ears.
Instead, everything went silent, as though Mel had grabbed him again. The loud crowd of emotions vanished, leaving Ethan with a sense of numbing disquiet. Only Kinetics had ever made him feel like this.
What the hell? Sheila was a Kinetic? Why hadn't he noticed before? Since when? But he'd heard her emotions before!
“If she's untrained...” his mind helpfully supplied, “then her control would slip.”
She couldn't be like Ethan then, or Melanie either. She wouldn't have stayed sane without some shields. She must be like Jaiden. A master of an element.
“Like water,” a traitorous part of him whispered.
No. That was impossible. Blond, bubbly Sheila a murderer? That didn't make any sense at all.
“Ethan?”
He blinked. Sheila was looking at him, blue eyes full of confusion. “Are you all right?”
“Sorry,” he said, shaken. “Just a headache. You know how it is.”
She handed him his paperwork to sign. “Do you want to take your break then?”
“Please.” His head was throbbing, mind awhirl. He needed a moment to process.
“Sure thing.”
Ethan signed the pick up sheet and handed it back to her. Their fingers brushed with another arc of silence. He gritted his teeth, pain mixing with a healthy dose of worry.
He could be wrong. He wanted to be wrong.
Sheila cut off his light and as soon as he had finished with the last customer, Ethan abandoned his register. He caught Melanie's eye, gesturing for her to follow him down an aisle. She did so, worry and confusion wrinkling her brow.
“What's going on?”
“Why didn't you tell me Sheila was a Kinetic?” Ethan demanded, careful to keep his voice low as they passed customers.
“Because she's not.”
“Then why couldn't I Hear her?” Ethan hissed, raking an anxious hand through his hair. He felt rattled, knocked askew, and he didn't like the sensation one bit.
Melanie frowned. “Maybe that block is still working. Everything's muffled, right?”
“Yes...” Ethan worked his jaw. “But I can still Hear. With her, I got eerie silence.”
They paused at the end of the aisle, just in front of the double doors to the back room. A stocker pushed a float past them, laden with goods.
“Afternoon, Ethan,” Stephen greeted with a tip of his head. “I'm sorry about Dray, man. That's just terrible.”
“Yes, thank you. Because being reminded about it often is just what I need to heal,” Ethan snapped, crossing his arms.
Stephen held up his hands in surrender. “Chill, man. I didn't mean to offend,” he said, and pushed his float out of the way. “Next time I'll keep my condolences to myself.”
He walked away with a creak and a rattle of the float, leaving Ethan to grind his teeth in peace. And feel just a tad bit guilty for snapping at someone who didn't deserve his ill temper.
“So?”
“So what?” Ethan replied, uncrossing his arms. “Apparently, I'm just losing my mind.”
Mel popped her gum. “Calm down, okay? You've had a hard week.”
“Easy for you to say.”
She sighed. “Look. Take your break. I'll take a closer look at Sheila. Deal?”
“Whatever.” Ethan was too tired to push it anymore. He waved Mel off and went toward the back room, where he could get hold of himself in relative peace.
He bought a Sprite and a Twix from the vending machines and put his head on the cool table. His skull continued to throb, ears ringing with noise, the memory of Sheila's ominous silence in the back of his mind.
His thoughts wouldn't stop churning. Maybe he was losing it. Nothing had been normal for weeks now. He was getting paranoid, seeing danger where it wasn't.
Ethan really hoped that was the case.
Fifteen minutes later, his migraine had lightened to an annoying but bearable twitch. He guzzled his Sprite, chowed down his Twix, and decided to make a quick bathroom stop before heading back up front.
He cut through the stock room to save himself some time, and that was when a blast of chilly, cigarette-tainted air hit him. Ethan paused, head swinging toward the Receiving Door, which was propped open. Something distinctly against policy.
Maybe Gene had forgotten to close it again. Loss Prevention would have his head for that. Especially if someone had taken it upon themselves to sneak out the open door for a smoke break.
Ethan altered his course. If no one was there, however, he'd be the good Samaritan that saved Gene from an ass-chewing.
He rounded the corner and peered out the door. To his surprise, Sheila was standing there, a cigarette held between two fingers and pressed to her lips. Smoke formed a wispy wreath around her head before the wind whipped it away.
What the hell? When did she start smoking? She'd always turned her nose up at it before, lamenting the fact that smokers got smoke breaks while non-smokers were shafted.
“Sheila?”
She turned toward him, pushing off the rusty railing that had served as a back rest. “Back from break already?” she asked with a smile so friendly, Ethan was suspicious. It looked nothing like her usual smiles, holding a razor's edge.
“Something like that.” Ethan dared draw closer, head cocked, straining his senses and pushing his Empathy to the limits. If Mel was right, then all he had to do was concentrate. “I didn't know you smoked.”
She exhaled smoke in his general direction. “We're just coworkers. I'm sure there's a lot we don't know about each other.” Her voice was tight. Ethan didn't like it.
He also didn't like the fact he couldn't Hear anything from her. Not a murmur, not a trill, not a single beat of bass.
“True,” Ethan said, palms feeling a little damp. His stomach churned, and he unconsciously surrendered a step. “Say... you've heard about the serial killer, right?”
“Who hasn't?” Not even a flicker of worry or fear. “What about him?”
Ethan took another subtle step backward. “Nothing much... just tossing theories around,” he replied shakily. “It's almost supernatural. Like X-Men or something.”
Sheila took another drag of her cigarette. “Or it's just bombs.”
“That, too.” She wouldn't do anything here, would she? “Do you believe in that sort of thing?”
Blue eyes narrowed. “Like what?”
“Oh. I don't know. Like reading minds or telling the future.” Ethan looked at Sheila, meeting her gaze with a boldness he hadn't known himself to possess. “Controlling the elements. Maybe even water.”
Sheila chuckled and flicked her cigarette to the ground, grinding it out with her tennis shoe. “I wondered when you'd figure it out. A little bit slow on the uptake, aren't you, little Empath?” Her voice was silky and sly, like a anthropomorphic cat.
For once, there was a situation where Ethan had hoped to be wrong. He didn't bother to hide his step away this time. There was a door about ten feet behind him, swinging into the meat department. He just had to get there before Sheila worked her magic.
“It's you. You're the one killing all those people?”
Sheila shrugged. “Yeah, you could say that. Shocker, isn't it?”
“Why?”
“Why not?” She sounded amused, gleeful even. As though she were enjoying herself way too much. “Everything else in this town is so boring anyway. I just thought I'd liven things up.”
Ethan paled. “You're crazy.”
“Sanity is all a matter of perspective, Ethan. Just like evil.” Sheila laughed, stepping back into the store, one arm bracing itself on the door frame. “But you'll come to learn that soon enough.”
It sounded like a threat. One she could back up.
Ethan told himself to run. He sent the commands to his feet. He tried to move, but only succeeded in twisting his torso. His limps felt like lead, as though they'd been poured into concrete. He broke out into a cold sweat.
“You can't kill me here,” he said, licking his lips nervously. “There are cameras.”
“Kill you?” Sheila giggled, leaning languidly against the frame, examining her painted fingernails. “That's not part of the plan. At least, not yet anyway. You're far more valuable alive right now.”
Ethan started to trembled, though his legs wouldn't obey the urge to flee. “I just have one question,” he said, hoping to stall, hoping that if someone else walked back here, their appearance would distract Sheila, give him room to run.
“Why did I do it? Because that's an easy one.”
“No.” Though he'd like to know that, too. “Did you kill Dray?”
Sheila's smirk widened. “I may have had a little fun with him. It's not my fault he wasn't strong enough to survive it.”
Ethan stilled before rage swamped everything else. Blinding him to the fear and the panic and everything else coursing through his veins.
She admitted to it, blandly, as though it didn't matter. She didn't care that she'd killed his best friend, that she'd killed a lot of people. Not an ounce of guilt or remorse showed in her eyes. She looked proud of herself.
Ethan shook, but not out of fear. Not anymore. “You--”
Clank!
Stars danced in front of Ethan's eyes as pain exploded in the back of his head. His knees buckled – free from their concrete prison – as he slid to the floor.
What..? Who...?
“Are you okay?” Stephen's voice.
“I'm fine,” Sheila sounded annoyed. “Don't kill him, Stephen. We need him alive.”
Ethan slid into darkness.
a/n: Two more chapters yet to go. Feedback is always welcome and appreciated!
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