Page 74 of Líadan's Code

Taking a flashlight from Lía when I get to the bottom, I help Jordan as we slip into the tunnels and into the night.

“Do you have cameras outside of the house that’ll show you who was there tonight?” Jordan asks as we walk in the dark.

There’s no ambient light down here, and the sounds of rats as they scuttle about are loud.

“Yeah,” I murmur. “I can access all of that from my phone. They didn’t trip any of the sensors because they didn’t get close enough until they started throwing shit through the windows.”

“Good, I want to look at those and add them to my fucking shit list,” he says as he walks stiffly.

“I have a feeling you’re going to keep Lía and I very busy with this list, Jor,” I say, chuckling darkly. “I’m glad for it, because I’m a bit pissed off that they burned our house down. Regardless of thinking about moving.”

“No one wants to find themselves homeless and naked,” Jordan says before he chuckles. It’s almost a giggle and so unexpected, Lía and I snicker with him.

Hearing Lía laugh is the only thing that makes any of this bearable.

“Homeless and naked sounds like a really fucked up movie,” I tease him. Our laughter is the release of our shared experience. While we’re not out of the woods completely, we are safer.

“Thankfully, that’s not the kind of entertainment I’ll ever manage,” Jordan says, setting us off again.

The trip through the tunnels and to our train passes quickly, and then we’re using the abandoned train stop to step easily onto the train to get to Dr. Kurtz’s neighborhood.

“Stay awake, Jordan,” I bark as I prop him up. Blood loss is a concern, but there’s not much I can do except keep the glass where it is for now.

“I’m resting my eyes,” he grunts. “I’m tired and didn’t get my nap.”

“You were awake earlier and wanting to take over the world,” Lía teases him, though her brows are pulled together in worry. Her fingers are curled into my thigh, because I won’t let her hurt herself and she knows it. The pain keeps us both focused, so it’s a win-win situation.

“You don’t want to sleep on the subway,” I remind him. “We’re getting off at the next stop, anyway. Getting jarred awake sucks. Don’t go to sleep. Stay with us.”

The words help rouse him, and he looks a little sharper. I know it’s because he’s fighting through the pain and haze. Jordan Miles is a tough motherfucker, though we’ve been testing his mettle recently.

“Fine,” he says. “Tell me how you’re going to make Cormac pay for this, and don’t spare any details.”

Like a fucked up story time, Lía and I tell him everything we have planned for the man who was Seán's right hand. He’ll be a screaming shell of a man by the time we’re done, and I’m rock hard by the time we get off the train.

“He’s expecting us,” I say as we walk through the quiet streets to 145 Wilder Street. It’s a quiet brownstone that he owns, large enough to use the basement for his medical needs when people wander in.

Ringing the doorbell, I nod as Dr. Kurtz opens the door. He’s an older man with wrinkles along his almost colorless spring-green eyes from smiling so often, and medium build. Dr. Kurtz has spoken about retiring soon, since he’s in his early sixties now, but I know he loves the adrenaline rush of visits like this.

“Fancy meeting you here,” he jokes as he opens the door wide. “Is there soot in your hair? Do I need to make sure I have oxygen masks?”

I had noticed the three of us were breathing harder, but didn’t think too closely at it. Being in survival mode sometimes means I miss things. Fuck.

“Our house burned down, so that wouldn’t be a bad idea,” I wheeze as I walk in with Jordan.

“Every time I tell myself I want to retire, something like this happens, and reminds me why I don’t,” he mutters as he closes the door behind us. “Can you lot make it to the basement?”

“Yep,” I say, my arm tightening around Jordan who is stumbling more. The last thing I need is for him to fall down the good doctor’s stairs.

“I heard the rumblings of conversation about you Líadan,” Dr. Kurtz says as he makes it to the bottom of the stairs and goes to wash his hands in the sink.

Sitting Jordan down heavily on a chair that isn’t comfortable but will be easier to wipe down if he bleeds on it, I let Lía answer the doctor.

“I wasn’t exactly quiet,” Lía says with a shrug. “There’s going to be more conversation and mess before I’m done, Dr. Kurtz.”

“Well those people can go somewhere else for treatment or just fucking die,” he says, drying his hands before he puts on gloves. “You deserve a life, and if you need to stir up a little chaos to make it happen, so be it. I’m very selective about who I’ll treat anyways.”

“I know, and we appreciate it,” Lía says, her voice sounding raspy from the smoke as she sits down.

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