Possessed By You (Overworld Underground Book 1) Page 9

  Just do it!

  I couldn't live with the pain of not trying. Of not knowing.

  Ready or not, Mr. Jones, here I come.

  Chapter 10

  George Walker stood in his favorite spot the next morning. Somehow, I knew he had something to do with Thomas's new attitude.

  I stormed up to him and jabbed a finger in his face. "What did you do to Thomas Jones? Did you wipe his mind?"

  He held up his hands defensively. "Now, now, Miss Glass."

  I jumped back a step. I'd never given him my name. "How do you know my—" Duh, he's with the government. "Never mind. Were those your men chasing Thomas the other night?"

  He looked slightly puzzled at the question. "No. We have no interest in your boss."

  "Were you spying on us at the dance studio?"

  Once again, George shook his head. "I'd planned to ask for your help, but you were obviously quite busy."

  I didn't believe him for a moment.

  I reached inside my purse and gripped the stun gun. Perhaps if I knocked him out and dragged him into an alley I could force some answers from him. For all I knew, he planned to wipe my memories as he had Thomas's.

  George looked at the purse. "It won't work on me, Miss Glass."

  "What won't?" I gave him an innocent look.

  He smiled. "The stun—"

  I lunged at him with the stunner and caught him right on the hem of his collar. He didn't even flinch as jagged electricity surged between the prongs. The stun gun fell from my limp fingers and clattered on the sidewalk. I stepped back, eyes widening with surprise.

  George leaned down and picked up the stun gun. He stepped forward and dropped it into my purse. "As I was saying, it won't work." He sighed. "Let me tell you why I'm really here. You possess an ability that would be very useful to us."

  My eyelids fluttered as I attempted to regain my senses. "An ability?"

  He nodded. "The sensations you feel when certain individuals are near you."

  "It's just intuition."

  He shook his head. "We believe it's more than that. If you work with us, we could help you develop it."

  "Bollocks." I shoved past him. "Go to hell, George, or whatever your real name may be."

  He didn't try to stop me. "We'll be in touch, Miss Glass."

  I didn't bother to respond. I had far bigger items on my agenda today. I had to fix whatever the government had done to Thomas.

  I arrived at work and hurried through my morning chores as quickly as possible so I could greet Mr. Jones the moment he stepped off the lift. As I stood watching and waiting, my hands trembled and a chill prickled my skin as if a ghost was dancing through my body.

  I rehearsed my lines again. I'd gone down to the coffee shop and grabbed his newspaper and coffee. I would hand them to him while saying, "Did you ever get the coffee stains out of your shirt when I ran into you the other day?"

  And in my fantasy world, he would stop, his lovely green eyes going wide, and say, "Emily? My God, Emily! I remember!" We'd skip work, go dancing, and he would dazzle me with a heretofore-unmentioned ability to play classic guitar and sing in Italian.

  The lift dinged.

  I flinched. Grabbed his coffee and paper.

  The doors opened and Mr. Jones stepped out.

  Nearly tripping over my own feet, I rounded the desk, holding them out. "Did you—"

  He waved a dismissive hand at me, pointed to the wireless earpiece in his ear, and said, "Look, I was obviously out of my mind when I bought the stupid vehicle. You can't bind me to a contract when I was crazy."

  I held out the coffee and paper to him. He gave them a confused look, holding up a plain Styrofoam cup with a lid on it, and walked into the executive wing while cursing at whoever was on the other end of the line.

  My lower lip trembled, and hot tears pooled as I stared down the hall after him. The lift dinged, and a crowd of salespeople got off, talking, laughing, and enjoying this dismal morning straight from the backside of hell.

  "You okay?" Jack asked, lingering behind the crowd.

  Biting down hard, I was able to get the tremble under control and nodded. "I bit my tongue."

  "Ouch! Yeah that'd bring tears to my eyes too."

  I smiled the best I could and nodded. "Would you like some coffee and a newspaper?"

  He glanced at the shunned items. "I sense a story hiding behind this somewhere."

  A half-laugh, half-sob burst from me, and I had to bite my lip to keep from bursting into hysterics. "Mr. Jones apparently no longer wants his daily coffee or paper."

  "Ah, I see." He picked up the coffee and sniffed it. "Well, smells better than the—" he broke off and gave an apologetic grin.

  "Oh, you can say it," I said. "Anything is probably better than the cheap coffee I make in the break room. I don't care if you despise it."

  "Something else is bothering you," he said, his forehead wrinkling. "Want to talk about it?"

  The lift dinged and a short, pudgy man with thick glasses got off. "Somers, what the hell are you doing up here chit-chatting? In case you forgot, today is the deadline for the code review."

  "Sorry Mr. Hinkle." Jack grabbed the coffee but left the newspaper. "Want to do lunch?" he said in a low voice as he leaned forward.

  "Oh, I don't know."

  "Just say yes. It's easier than coming up with an excuse."

  "Yes?"

  He chuckled and nodded. "I'll pick you up at noon."

  As he went down the hall trailing behind the dwarf-like Mr. Hinkle, someone cleared their voice behind me. I turned and saw Thomas—Mr. Jones—standing there.

  "Perhaps you can explain what you were doing with the coffee and newspaper," he said, lips flat.

  "Sandra told me you wanted that coffee and newspaper each morning, so I went down the street—"

  "Let's get something straight, young lady. I do not drink that fancy crap they charge five bucks a cup for, and I stopped reading paper versions of the news when I got a smartphone." He held up a phone with a large screen. "So you will no longer have to fetch those items for me."

  I toyed with the idea of skipping the other parts of my plan and going straight to hitting him over the head with the paperweight, but common sense told me that wouldn't be the brightest of ideas. "Did you ever get the coffee stains out of your shirt?"

  "Coffee stains?"

  "When I spilled the coffee on you the other day."

  He squinted. "I don't remember that, young lady, but it's just another reason I don't trust interns to do a proper job of anything." His hand flicked in a dismissive gesture. "Now, are there any other idiotic things I did over the past few months I need to know about?"

  I stared at him. At the slouch in his shoulders I'd never seen before. At the way he squinted and made his brown eyes look almost beady. Thomas had exuded self-confidence, almost to the point of arrogance. He'd been cool and hip. This guy was like an eighty year-old in a younger body. He had none of Thomas's caring or compassion in his eyes. Was it really possible to so drastically alter someone's personality? What had those government people done to him?

  I fervently wished I still had the coffee so I could toss it in his face.

  "Well, don't stand there like a fool with your mouth open, girl," Mr. Jones snapped. "Is there anything else?"

  Even though I suddenly knew with utter certainty it would do no good, I stuck to my plan. "Do you like to dance, sir?"

  "What?"

  "Like waltzing? Do you like karaoke?"

  "What kind of stupid questions are these?" His eyes narrowed. "What did I do? Tell me."

  I felt sick to my stomach. My questions were having no affect whatsoever on this man. Thomas was dead, and only Jackass Jones remained, the bloody git. "Nothing, sir. I just remember you talking about doing karaoke the other day, and though it might ring a bell."

  "Do I look Japanese to you?" He hooked a thumb at his chest. "You wouldn't catch me dead doing something like that. Now, unless you have anything impor
tant to bring to my attention, I'm going back to my office." He turned. Paused. "Oh, and we have guests coming in at two, so be sure to have the conference room ready to go. With a projector this time."

  My hand gripped the cool surface of the glass paperweight from Sandra's desk as he walked away. I was tempted to brain him with it, and not just to return his memory. Just thinking about how close I'd come to sleeping with him made me physically ill. The man was a bloody troll. He needed to take his personality, crawl back under his bridge, and give me Thomas and his green eyes back.

  Throw it! Beat the shit out of the bloody fool!

  I was becoming desperate.

  Lunch finally arrived. As I prepared to heat up the food I'd brought, Jack appeared, and I remembered our lunch...thing. I felt horrible for not remembering although my mind had been a cauldron of boiling emotions all morning. I discreetly slid my food back into the refrigerator before he could notice.

  "You like pho?" Jack asked as we rode down the lift.

  I almost burst into tears. Somehow, I managed a nod. "But I'm not really in the mood for pho. Is there anything else?"

  We ended up having pizza.

  Though my appetite wasn't exactly begging for food, I found space for a few slices and listened to Jack talk about how he wanted to program video games or something like that.

  "So what's your story?" he asked.

  "It's not very interesting." I sipped my drink, trying to think of a suitable way to redirect the conversation.

  "What made you leave England?"

  Apparently, my accent was the worst kept secret, ever. It usually wasn't an issue, but then again, I wasn't typically assaulted with mental trauma on an everyday basis. Somewhere along the way, I'd picked up a nice emotional balance and put my pain, worries, and misery behind me. Leave it up to a man to jump on the seesaw and send me flying.

  "My father transferred us here."

  "Cool, what kind of work does he do?"

  "Uh, religious."

  "Some kind of aid organization?"

  I really didn't want to explain this. He'd think I was a religious nut with a crazy father. "No, he just wanted to start a church of his own." At least, that was what Dad told me. He and Mum seemed to operate on a level I couldn't understand, vanishing for days on a mission for poor people, or leaving town at the drop of a hat to help someone in need.

  "Oh, wow." Jack leaned back and stretched. "So I guess you had a really strict upbringing."

  "Not particularly." I glanced at the time. "Perhaps we should start back to the office."

  "Sure thing." I went for my purse, but Jack held up a hand. "I got it."

  "That's not necessary," I said, in no way desiring this to seem like a date. I'd had enough of dates and enough of men.

  "No, really. I got it."

  I took out some cash and handed it to him. "I insist."

  Some of the air seemed to go out of him, and I could tell he must have gotten the message. "All right."

  I felt a little bad. He was a handsome guy. He seemed nice. But they all seemed nice at the beginning. Once they got what they wanted, men morphed into brutes. Careless, thoughtless animals. Even Jack would, given the chance. Perhaps he already had with previous girlfriends. I just wanted my nice, balanced seesaw back. No more of this emotional rollercoaster ride with a man at the wheel. I was done.

  "Did I say something to upset you?" Jack asked as we walked down the sidewalk.

  "No, why would you think that?" I said.

  He shrugged. "You keep clenching your fists and scowling."

  I grimaced and looked at him. "Uh, maybe because I keep thinking about Mr. Jones. He's been kind of mean today."

  "Ah." He chuckled. "Yeah. Once Sandra gets back, you'll be in for some real fun."

  "Just lovely," I muttered.

  Jack gave me a business card with a number scrawled on the back. "Feel free to call me anytime, even if you just want to talk." He shrugged. "I'm no Dr. Phil, but alcohol and talking seem to be universal bandages for what ails people."

  I offered him a smile and tucked the card into my purse. "You're sweet."

  The look in his eyes told me he considered that statement to be a death sentence. Friend-zoned.

  Back at the office, Kevin rushed around in a panic, trying to finish the presentation scheduled for two o'clock, so I pitched in, doing what I could to help him copy over all the files he needed.

  "Son of a—" Kevin snapped his mouth shut. "Jones is all over my ass. He's scheduled meetings for every day this week. I don't know how I'm supposed to sell software to anyone if he has me and the others in here making all these internal presentations to bring him up to speed. I sent him a summary email, but no, he wants us to explain every account."

  "Can I help?" I said, not particularly wanting to, but figuring I might as well seem helpful since I'd get dragged into the mess anyway. It wasn't that I didn't want to work with Kevin, but the thought of having to deal with ex-Thomas made me feel physically ill.

  "That would be so awesome," Kevin said.

  I didn't leave work until six and took the bus home since walking in the dark didn't seem the wisest course of action. I didn't wish to be kidnapped by roving gangs of government officials in black cars who could apparently wipe someone's personality and replace it with a horse's ass.

  A familiar chill ran through me as I walked from the bus stop. I stopped in my tracks. I remembered the last time I'd felt this chill. Goosebumps ran up my back. I turned.

  Stephen stood several feet away from me, lips peeled back into a sneer. "You told them about me, didn't you?"

  "Told who?" Knees threatening to buckle, I backed away.

  "The Custodians."

  I gulped and fought back the fear. "What in the hell would a janitorial staff do about a rapist like yourself? Throw bleach in your face?" This man was truly out of his mind.

  "Janitorial?" He seemed genuinely bemused. Understanding dawned in his face. A rough laugh burst from his throat. "How interesting. You're just a stupid nom after all."

  "A what?" I wasn't sure if I should be afraid or upset. I suspected this conversation wasn't heading in a direction I'd like in any case and reached inside my purse. This stun gun was getting a lot of use today. I just hoped it worked this time.

  Stephen sniffed the air. He made a hissing noise that simply didn't seem normal for a man. "It seems I have you all to myself." He moved toward me so quickly, he almost seemed a blur, stopping inches away from me.

  My stomach went cold as ice. There were a few cars nearby, but I'd have to run for my life and hope someone stopped and helped me. I whipped out the stun gun, pressed the trigger, and drove it toward his exposed neck. Stephen reacted like a coiled snake, striking it from my hand so fast, I hardly saw him do it. Then he was on top of me, pressing me against a lamppost, one hand around my throat. My knee went for his groin, but had no more success than the last time.

  He blocked me with his other hand and laughed. "Pathetic."

  I felt the cold emanating from inside him. Felt a lust that was part sexual and part animal. I pressed my hands to his face and tried to gouge his eyes but my fingers felt as powerless as they might in a bad dream. He squeezed my throat. I gasped for breath.

  "I want you to beg me to take you, my sweet little whore." His lips spread into a cruel smile. "You think you're something special, don't you?" His eyes flashed. "You're nothing but an ordinary piece of ass. Your type is my favorite." He licked my ear and spoke in a low mocking voice. "Nothing better than finding a foolish little girl who thinks she's special and making her beg me to have my way with her body."

  "You're filth," I croaked. "Vermin."

  "You'll be the dirty one soon, love." He loosened his grip and nipped at my throat.

  My skin recoiled at his touch. I squirmed desperately but there was no escape. "Kill me first. I'd rather be dead than suffer your disgusting presence."

  He hissed. "You mean little—"

  Someone shouted. Voices e
choed and reached my ears.

  "What the hell is he doing to her?" a man yelled.

  A female voice joined his. "Let her go!"

  Stephen hissed again and released me. I slumped to the ground. The cold pavement chilled my legs and butt. I was just grateful to feel anything at that point. I drew in a rasping breath and looked around. The deranged lunatic was nowhere to be seen.

  A man helped me to my feet. "Are you okay?"

  A woman came into view. "Where did he go?" She looked around. "I could've sworn I saw him two seconds ago."

  My breath came easier. I saw my stun gun lying on the ground a short distance away and retrieved it. Useless piece of junk!

  "You need to report this to the police," the man said. "Let me call—"

  I held up a hand. "Thanks, but I'll call them. I just want to get home." I squeezed his hand. "Thank you so much. You saved my life."

  He looked at me for a long moment. "If you're sure."

  I nodded. "I am. Thanks again." I walked quickly to the flat on rubbery legs. I could hardly believe what had happened in such a short span of time. I'd have to upgrade my self-defense arsenal. Maybe get an actual gun. How did Stephen know I'd be at that bus stop? Had he been following me? Had he been on the bus? I didn't know. I would have to be extra careful from now on.

  A normal person might have been hysterically crying by this point.

  Not me. I had Peter to thank for that. The abuse I'd suffered at his hands had thickened my skin and built up the barrier around my soul. I'd loved Peter and allowed him so close to my heart it had been easy for him to thrust the dagger of his abuse where it hurt the most. I wouldn't let this new monster affect me the same way. I'd adapt and be ready for the next time.

  Isabel wasn't home when I arrived. I heard her come in as I lay in bed trying to shut down my busy brain and find respite in slumber, but I couldn't stop thinking about the attack or the day's other events. Her footsteps seemed to pause outside my door, though I supposed my imagination might have only wished it were so. Her door clicked shut a moment later, and I stared through the pitch black toward the door wishing I could talk to her and tell her about everything. Surely what I'd been through ranked as newsworthy enough to break the silence between us. Instead, I did what I'd done when faced with the unspeakable. I bottled it up inside and pushed it away. I'd survived on my own before, and I'd survive again.