Deceiving the Lie: Part VI
This is really long, so I split it into two parts to keep your computer from eating itself during the picture loading. Don’t let the first few pictures fool you, the graphics are mostly cow poo.
Due to Part V’s PG-13ness, Part VI will be very rated-R.
Violence, blood, sex, and drugs… I might be exaggerating. But then again, I might not.
…
I am.
But not really.
__________________________________________________________________
“Go fix her,” Rowanne had said to Garcia not five minutes before he located Salem sitting quietly in one of the libraries.
“Rowanne is interested to know how you’re feeling.” Garcia sat down across from Salem’s hunched figure. Really, Rowanne was getting impatient, wanting Salem in the field as soon as possible in order to take advantage of her impenetrable aura. The ultimate defense against vampirics and the like. It had been weeks since they had yanked her off the streets, abruptly ending her night job of drug-addled prostitution. She had gone through a painful detox, refusing help from healers, and had managed to kick the habit. However, she was still pale and withdrawn, hardly field ready, her piercing stare being the only thing lively, if not disconcerting, thing about her.
She had turned that stare on him. “How should I feel?” she asked him quietly.
He raised his eyebrows. “Well, she was hoping you’d be feeling better by now.”
“You know what I feel like?” she said quietly. “Like someone who, after years of sex and drugs, is finally off the streets, off her high, and surrounded by… psychics.”
“Uh… This is all, no doubt, overwhelming. If you let one of the healers look at you, they can probably… make it easier,” Garcia said, pretending he wasn’t caught off guard.
She shook her head at him, blue eyes never faltering from his face. “I want to feel like this. I haven’t felt… anything… in…” she didn’t finish her sentence.
Garcia filled the silence. “Well, just know that Rowanne has made a home for you here. She only wants what’s best for you.” After he said that, he could see something change in her mood. If she weren’t so lethargic, he’d think that something about his comment had annoyed her.
He watched her lean back slowly, her eyes bright, searching his face. “Why do you wear those?” She motioned languidly towards his glasses. “You don’t take them off.”
“Why does it matter?”
“I think they make it easier for you.”
He frowned. “Make what easier?”
“Lying,” she said.
“…What?”
“Your eyes can’t give you away if you hide them.”
Garcia fell silent. He didn’t know what to say, hardly wanting to acknowledge any truth that may have lain in her revelation. He suddenly regretted having even started the conversation with her.
“A telepath who needs help telling lies,” she mused passively. “I’m not even sure what color your eyes are.”
“They’re brown,” he answered sourly.
“How can I believe a word you say?”
He merely stared at her, the muscles in his face tight. He was caught completely off guard when she pushed herself up off the couch and reached towards him. He recoiled almost involuntarily.
“What are you doing?” he asked, a bit irritated.
She paused, but didn’t pull back. “Do you think I’d be able to harm you?”
He didn’t answer and remained ridged as her hand resumed its arc towards his face.
He blinked when she pulled his glasses from the bridge of his nose.
“Go figure,” she said. She pulled back the collar of his suit jacket and stuck his glasses in his inside pocket before sitting back down. “So your eyes are brown.”
__________________________________________________________________
Garcia pulled himself out of his thoughts and allowed his ears to take in the sounds of violence that echoed off the crumbling brick and steel of the corridor. Rowanne’s holding cells were maintained only enough to keep from collapsing.
He glanced at his watch as a cry of pain vibrated out from behind the bolted door in front of him. “That’s enough,” he said out loud and kicked himself off the wall.
Opening the heavy door, Garcia walked into the dingy, poorly lit cell, watching for a moment as Marlo shoved his fist into the face of Raleigh Wilde. From what he could see, along with inheriting his healing abilities, the man was the spitting image of his father, Sirian Sarke.
Sarke was a healer that had rubbed Rowanne the wrong way by being one of her loudest dissenters. His death had sent violent, terrified waves through the already broken psychic community, and Rowanne was quick to take credit for it, hoping that his followers would be frightened into submission. However, Garcia knew that she had had nothing to do with it, and was probably as surprised as everyone else. It was enormously difficult to kill a healer, for obvious reasons.
Raleigh was covered in blood, but it seemed that his cuts were closing and his bruises shrinking before Garcia’s eyes. He was sure that the man was cursing his healing talents, as Marlo Jensen and cronies were simply taking pleasure out of reopening his wounds.
“Mr. Jensen, I’ll take it from here,” Garcia said just as Marlo landed another swift punch to the man’s face.
Marlo leaned down and spat, “You’re in trouble now, motherfucker!”
Garcia cringed and motioned for Marlo and his backup to leave the room. “I can do without the introductions, Mr. Jensen. If you would please… go away, that would be excellent.”
“Are you sure you don’t need me to stay?” Marlo asked, his disappointment at being kicked out clear in his expression.
“I would not have asked you to leave if I needed you to stay,” Garcia said, trying to keep the annoyance out of his voice. “I think I’ve been doing this for long enough to be able to handle myself. Don’t you think so?”
Marlo nodded, sensing the admonishment, and followed his crew out of the room. Garcia closed the door behind them and then turned to examine the man that was crumpled painfully on the floor.
Garcia picked up one of the less beat-up chairs from the corner of the room and pulled it over to the man.
“Get up,” he said. “Have a seat.”
Raleigh didn’t move, continuing to drip and spit blood into a growing stain on the floor.
Garcia rolled his eyes. “Oh please, Mr. Wilde, you’re hardly incapacitated. I know for a fact that Mr. Jensen and his friends don’t have the commonsensical awareness to know that it takes a bit of creativity to truly injure a vitakinetic.” He sniffed. “All the show. Brawn. There’s no point in it at all. I punch you in the face and split your lip, you glue that shit back together in a minute’s time. Granted it is a mentionable discomfort for you, but more importantly, it’s a complete waste of energy for me. I’m not interested, so get up.”
The man maintained his connection to the solid concrete floor.
Garcia rubbed his eyebrow impatiently, and grabbed a chair for himself. “I do get it Mr. Wilde. I do. Vitakinetics, such as yourself, hold the upperhand physically. What can I really do to you? All of the skills of… let’s call it persuasion, that I’ve learned in my time with Rowanne prove useless in your case. There are pressure points in your lower spine and neck that, if the correct amount of force is applied, can stop function in four major organs without killing you. But I’m sure you’d get them up and running again in no time. Drawing blood is just so futile, as you patch up those surface wounds almost immediately. Even a broken bone would be a mere misstep for you.” He tapped his lip in thought. “Hmmm… bones. Those take you a little while to put back together, don’t they? A few days right? Depending, I’m sure.”
Raleigh shifted uneasily on the floor, but said nothing.
“They say that the shoulder blade is one of the hardest bones to break. The scapula. One of the most painful as well. Especially around the line of the thoracic nerve. Excruciating, really. Or so I’ve heard,” Garcia said, sitting down. “But I’ve found that if you brace someone’s arm under your own, and use their spine as a lever, the base of your palm will go right through it. It’ll crack right in half. I won’t say it’s easy, but I’ve always gotten results.”
He looked on as Raleigh made nervous movements on the concrete floor, seeming to steel himself.
Garcia raised his eyebrows. “But, I suppose you’re right. The bones will grow back. It may take you a few excruciating days, but physicality is no issue for you. I understand that. You’ve grown confident in your invincibility.” Garcia tilted his head to the side. “But what if physicality was an issue? Wouldn’t it be interested if I managed to tap into your mind and pass on a message or two? Convince your mind and your psyche that, maybe instead of overzealous healing, it should be telling your body to bleed. Profusely. From every orifice. All this while I’m considering which bone in your body to shatter next. I’m getting tingles just thinking about it. How about you, Mr. Wilde?”
Garcia waited for a moment while his words sunk in, and let the corners of his mouth twitch slightly when the man stood up slowly, and sat down in the chair Garcia had gotten him. His face was still splattered with own blood, traces of which were disappearing as if being sucked back into his body through his pores, but most of the contusions that he had when Garcia had walked in were long gone. The hefty bruise that decorated his left eye was already beginning to turn yellow, the damage being repaired.
Garcia scoffed at him. “Now why did I have to do all of that? Why couldn’t you just sit in the chair when I brought it to you? Cooperation, at least with the rational, is usually the less painful option. I mean with you on the floor like that, I could have easily put my shoe right through your ankle. And then you would have had to sit there, on the floor, pasting the bones of your foot back onto your leg. With you sitting upright like a gentleman, there are much fewer options available for me to inflict pain on you. And I’m serious about that. You are in a drastically more beneficial position while seated.”
Raleigh only blinked, but Garcia moved on.
“Now, the questions that I am about to ask you require little thought or semantic. Just the truth. Clear and concise. How do you know Troylan Oliver?”
Raleigh lowered his eyes, his brow knitting with tension, a conflict raging silently in his head.
“You do realize that I’m a telepath?” Garcia asked. “I will get the answers I seek whether you give them willingly or not. I’m choosing to let you keep your dignity here. I wish you’d stop fighting that.”
Raleigh looked up and glared at Garcia for a long moment before opening his mouth to speak. “I met her on the Fringe.”
“What was your relationship?”
“There was no relationship. She was a good person to know if you needed a message sent over the telewaves that no one needed to see except for the person sending it and the person receiving it. I’m good a person to know if you have a broken bone.” He gave Garcia a mocking look.
“A relationship of convenience then?”
“Whatever you want to call it.”
“How do you know Ryan Lee? The wife of Jericho Lee?”
“I knew them through my… my father.” Raleigh swallowed hard before continuing. “Our families used to be close. My father and Jericho were friends.”
Garcia ignored the hint of emotion that was leaking into the man’s face. “Friends? Or coconspirators against Rowanne’s authority?
Raleigh shrugged and gave a snide smirk. “Whatever you want to call it, man.”
“I want to call it what it is,” Garcia replied. “Now tell me how you know Aeryn Faye.”
“I don’t,” Raleigh answered, keeping his gaze averted. “It was only a fluke that I knew about her before. I heard it in passing.”
Garcia furrowed his eyebrows. “In passing who, what, and where?”
Seemingly all at once, the remaining damage to Raleigh’s face cleared, and he made a face as if the effort to heal himself had been an annoyance. He reached up to rub the last bit of blood from his nose. “Ryan’s kid. Dresden Lee. He runs a low level drug front occasionally. Weed and such. If I’m in the area I run for him… sometimes. I was helping him move his merch a while back and he might have said a few things about this chick that was staying with his family.”
“Ms. Faye.”
“Yeah,” Raleigh said quietly. “Troy had been looking for this woman for a while, and it led her to my small corner of the globe. She knew I had business in the area and thought I could help. And I did.” There was a tinge of regret in his voice.
Garcia sat still for a long time, silently appraising Raleigh. Finally, he pulled a cell phone out of his pocket. He fiddled with it for a moment before holding it up for Raleigh to see. “Do you know what this is, Mr. Wilde?”
Raleigh stared at it for a whole minute. Then another, before letting his eyes fall back to Garcia’s face. “Who are you?” he asked, his voice low.
“My name is Garcia Hazard.”
“Fuck your name, who are you?”
Garcia smiled. “So then you do know what this is.”
“You worked with my father?”
Garcia shook his head. He knew that although all telepathic frequencies into and out of the room were being blocked by the device disguised as a cell phone, this was not the time or place. “Despite what I’m holding, that is not a conversation I’m comfortable having here.” Garcia looked down. “But I will tell you that Rowanne did not kill him.”
“Then who did? What did?,” Raleigh leaned forward, pointing accusingly at Garcia. “How do you know?!”
“Not the time. I’ve only allowed this brief moment of sincerity to inform you that I owed your father more than a few favors. So, while it is unlikely you’ll ever be leaving Rowanne’s custody, I’ll do my best to see that you remain, for the most part, unharmed. If you were anything like your father, you’d see this for what it is and support it with your cooperation… but your past exploits with the Fringe and petty narcotics tell me otherwise. Lucky for you, I know you have an incredible amount to lose in your current state, and so I’ve decided to trust your desperation.”
“What is going on here?!”
“That should not be your current concern.” He motioned to the cell phone. “I’m turning this off now, but you should know that when I do, I’m going to have to break your scapula.”
Raleigh recoiled. “What?!”
“I’m sorry, but I have to. It will take your mind off of our little chat, just in case you’re stupid enough to keep me in your thoughts. And, honestly, you can’t expect anyone to believe that I sat in here and had a casual conversation with you.”
“But you did! I was honest with you! Even before I knew anything about you!”
“No matter. These brutes don’t understand anything outside of violence,” Garcia said, fiddling once again with the phone. “It will be a clean break, easy to heal.”
“Wait,” Raleigh jumped up, knocking over the chair. “Wait, listen. I may be a Vita, but I still feel just as much pain as anyone! I’m not immune!”
“No one said you were. In fact, I think I said the complete opposite.” Garcia stuck the phone in his pocket. “Are you left handed or right handed? Your hand may still work, but your arm will be gimp.”
“Please, just wait a minute!” Raleigh pleaded, backing against the wall. “Let’s just discuss our options here!”
“Stop it. You ran out of options the minute I walked in the door.” Garcia waved away his pleading. “I do apologize for warning you, however. The anticipation is the worst part.” Then, in a flash, he was out of his chair and grabbed ahold of the back Raleigh’s neck, the man’s arm in a vice grip under his own. “Don’t hold your breath or I might pop your lung.”
_________________________________________________________________
Chauncey continued to play a self-composed piece on the piano, attempting to ignore Mickey’s eyes on him. From her mischievous demeanor he could tell she was up to no good. She leaned against the piano, making it difficult to evade her gaze.
“Hi Chauncey,” she said, biting her lip.
“Hello,” he replied, warily.
“Am I interrupting you?”
“No. Not at all.”
She stepped up onto the piano bench and swung an agile leg over him. As she sat down on the keyboard, his delicate melody was decimated by the banging echo of two octaves worth of notes being pressed down at the same time. “What about now?”
He could feel his nerves getting jumpy. “Uhm… maybe now… yeah, a little bit.”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” she said, pushing a loose strand of hair behind his ear. “I didn’t mean to.”
“Mickey…”
“Hmmm?”
“We… uhm… we have guests.”
“We have one guest, and she’s talking a walk,” she replied. “I’m guessing we have a fifteen minute window and we need to jump on it. Let me jump on it, Chauncey.”
“Oh… wow, uhm…” He exhaled heavily. This could not be indulged. “Listen, your argument is very persuasive, believe me, but Aeryn can be back any minute. She’s already seen me biting you, for the love of carrots.”
“I hate carrots.”
“Mickey. I’m not risking her walking in on…” he let his voice trail.
She raised her eyebrows. “Walking in on what? You ravaging me?” She purred at him.
Chauncey felt his palms starting to sweat. “I – I’m not – I do not… ravage.”
“I do.”
“You know what, why don’t you…” He gripped her waist and pulled her off the piano with ease, seating her beside him on the bench. “Why don’t you sit here instead?”
She sat beside him without resistance and fell quiet, allowing him to return to his piece. However, her eyes were so intent on him that his melody became a bit uneven with his nervous energy.
She listened to him play for a moment before speaking lightly, “That’s lovely, Chauncey.”
He smiled and relaxed a bit. “Thank you.”
“Take off your clothes.”
He hit a wrong note and pulled his nervous fingers from the piano keys. He resisted the urge to run a hand through his hair, as he often did when he was nervous, not wanting her to know how much she was getting to him.
“What if we both remain fully clothed and you go take a cold shower… while remaining fully clothed.”
She stared at him for a moment before chuckling. “You are a graham cracker I swear.”
“There is nothing wrong with being a graham cracker. They are wholesome and delicious.”
“Yeah, I know, that’s why I want some,” Mickey said, looking at him seductively.
Chauncey shook his head, half amused, half appalled. “You shouldn’t sully the name of graham crackers.”
“It’s not the name of graham crackers that I want to sully.”
“No, Mickey, not graham crackers. Any other innuendo, just not graham crackers. It just feels wrong.”
“If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were deliberately trying to close our window.”
“It is a bit windy out, and it’s really too early in the season to have the windows open anyway.”
She leaned towards him. “Stop talking and kiss me.”
Chauncey clamped his hand over his mouth before her lips could make contact with his. “I think that’s a bad idea,” he said, his voice muffled through his palm.
Mickey’s eyebrows lowered only slightly, but her demeanor shifted noticeably. “You are swimming in dangerous waters, Mr. Bouchard.”
“I can see that,” he said, his hand still over his face.
“Don’t make me come in there.”
“I think I hear Aeryn coming.”
“Chauncey, I want graham crackers!”
“Grahm crackers?” Aeryn said, walking in. She pulled the gate shut behind her. “Wow, I haven’t had any of those since I was a kid.”
Chauncey slapped away Mickey’s hand, which had been creeping up the inside of his leg and pointed over her shoulder. “Oh look, Mickey, Aeryn’s back! I told you she’d be here any minute,” he said to through his teeth.
“This isn’t over, Red,” she growled under her breath.
Chauncey looked away and smiled at Aeryn. “Hey Aeryn. Mickey and I were just discussing how we never have grahm crackers in the house when we have guests. Never. Ever. Not ever, not once,” he said, although he aimed his sentence at Mickey.
Mickey spun around to face Aeryn. “You like grahm crackers too? Oh man, it’s too bad none of us can get any. I haven’t had a graham cracker in months. I am craving my pants off. I think they have laws against the things I would do to a grahm cracker if I ahold on one. I would grab it with both hands and nibble on –”
“UHM!” Chauncey said loudly, cutting Mickey off. “How was your walk, Aeryn?”
Aeryn gave them an odd look before answering. “Uh… it was… it was great. It’s really gorgeous out here. You guys actually have wild strawberries growing farther back towards the hills.”
“You should try not to stray too far,” Chauncey replied.
“Oh, she’s fine,” Mickey said. “In fact we should go pick some strawberries later. It’ll get my fingers working you know.” She leaned back against the piano and wiggled her fingers in Chauncey’s direction. “I mean, I would really prefer a graham cracker, but I guess a wild strawberry will just have to hold me over.”
Chauncey’s jaw dropped slightly before he put a hand behind her waist and pushed her up off the piano bench. “You know what? I’m going to finish this piece,” he said with an exaggerated tone. “You guys don’t mind, right?”
“Of course not, babe.” She let him push her to her feet and walked towards Aeryn as he resumed his music.
“Am I… missing something?” Aeryn asked as Mickey motioned her towards the couch.
“Nah, I’m just messing with him,” Mickey said. “I could eat him alive, I’m so horny.”
Aeryn coughed as she swallowed down the wrong pipe. “Oh,” she choked out awkwardly.
Mickey laughed. “You and Chauncey make me feel like a trucker. I’m about to spit and grab my crotch, I swear.”
Aeryn chuckled and sat down. “Hey,” She pointed at the gun that was mounted over the fire place. “Do you know how to use that?”
Mickey climbed onto the counch glanced up at the wall. “Pffffftt,” she blew air threw her lips. “That’s not real.”
“Really?” Aeryn said, tilting her head. “It sure looks real.”
Mickey turned around to look Chauncey. “Babe, is that thing above the fire place real?” she called to him.
“Yes,” he said, not pausing his music. “Don’t touch it.”
Mickey turned back around to face Aeryn, a disbelieving look on her face. “Well, it’s certainly not loaded.” She paused to consider it for a second before swiveling around again.
“Babe, is that thing above the fireplace loaded?”
“Yes,” Chauncey repeated. “Don’t touch it.”
Mickey looked back at the automatic weapon and nodded her head slowly. “Yeah, we probably won’t be having kids,” she said to Aeryn, sitting back.
Aeryn smiled at her. Although they had managed to spend a peaceful couple of days out in the middle of nowhere, Aeryn could sense that Mickey was getting restless.
They’re only connection to the rest of the group was housed in nine candles that sat on Chauncey’s mantle.
“How do those work,” Aeryn asked, pointing.
“Layne can light them from where ever he is,” Mickey explained. “Don’t ask me how. Superior concentration or something, but each candle arrangement has a meaning. The specifics won’t mean much to you, but when lit the candles can signify locations, safe houses, sanctuary, different places we’ve managed to set up. They can also tell us where a specific person is, or give us directions, signal danger or safety. Through the candles Layne can pass us a lot of information.”
Aeryn looked on, half confused, half amazed.
“I think it’s the dumbest thing ever,” Mickey laughed, “but it’s all we have to keep in touch. Sometimes Monroe can do funky things with smoke to get Layne’s attention, but, on our end, we’re dead in the water.”
“Has Chauncey found anything?” Aeryn asked. He had gone out and searched for any signs that someone had followed them, or was watching them.
“No, he thinks we got away cleanly, but I’m not so sure.” Mickey answered, her smile fading. “I mean, in this case, yes, it doesn’t appear that we’ve drawn any malicious attention to ourselves, but I have this feeling that this wasn’t just about Jericho.”
“What do you mean?”
Mickey shook her head as if she wasn’t sure. “It just doesn’t make sense to me. We had a system, a good one. Not many people know where or how to find us. Hell, most people don’t even know to look for us. But suddenly Mercer Rye just happens to tip you off on who we might be, and you find us, and now people are just walking up out of the blue and starting fights with Ryan.”
Aeryn looked down, confused. “You think Tobias and I might have led them to her?”
“No, no,” Mickey waved off the suggestion. “You’ve been with us for too long. What I’m saying is… I mean, didn’t you ever think it was weird that Mercer would help you? Send you in our direction? Mercer Rye? Yeah, she’s a big part of the resistance against Rowanne, and she had to have known of Jericho Sr., most psychics on Rowanne’s shit list do. But Mercer’s not sugar coated. And if she is, it’s only so she can lure you to her right before she bites your head off… that fucking praying mantis. She’s like a giant, living, breathing ulterior motive.”
“I guess… yeah, it is a little odd.” Aeryn thought about it, looking away. “It is odd. But at the time I wasn’t thinking. I thought it was a clue. She was the last person to see my brother and told me that you all could help me. I believed her… I never thought twice… but now, I guess… it is fishy.”
“Yeah,” Mickey agreed. “I mean, I never said anything about it really, because we don’t turn away people in need… if they can find us… but we haven’t been much help to you. In fact, you’re no closer to finding Hadrian than you were before you met us.”
Aeryn felt suddenly depressed. “I know. But, I’m closer to coming to terms with the idea that it may never happen.”
“Oh, no, I didn’t mean it like that, wait, wait, wait, wait.” Mickey said with a worried cringe. “I don’t want you to give up hope. I’m not trying to discourage you. I’m just saying that I think Mercer sent you to us on false pretenses, and I’m beginning to think that all this might be related.”
Aeryn nodded. “But how could we know? We’re clueless out here, and there isn’t anyone who could get us more information.”
“Actually…” Mickey bit her lip. “There may be someone…but Chauncey is totally not going to go for it.”
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DECEIVING THE LIE: PART VI {CON’T} >>>>>>>>>>>
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