Page 92 of Penny for Your Saints

Crushing, creeping—I feel the coil of muscle and sinew as it winds tighter and tighter around me; black and the silver scales like the night sky drawn with stars push sweet air from my lungs.

A snake, A spiral, A glimpse of true danger—of evil.

Yet at the same time, I also catch a rare view into a twisted kindred soul. Like ink diffusing into water or darkness falling over the land as the sun sets; Frank descends upon me, threatening to consume me whole.

I jolt awake in a cold sweat just as the sun is about to begin its golden arc down behind the horizon into the lilac of twilight and blue of night.

I'm still alone. The rest of the Saints have not yet returned to the yacht.

I peel my tank top away from my clammy skin and step out of my soaking underwear. I haven't had a real shower in days, and right now, little else could sound much better.

Under the hot water, I wash my hair and shave my legs. No doubt our temporary cover will require a fair amount of shorts and bathing suits.

I emerge from the tiny capsule shower and use my towel to clear a circle of mirror through the stream. Running my fingers through my wet hair, I take a moment to mourn it. I've never been a blond, but they say blonds ‘have more fun.’

An unexpected laugh bubbles up from me, and I feel a warm fizzling joy reflected and multiplied by my mates at the end of the bond.

A loud burbling noise from my stomach lets me know that I need at least a glass of water before the boys come home.

In our initial rummaging, I didn't find much. A couple boxes of stale crackers, some emergency rations, and of course, a miniature refrigerator completely filled with champagne.

Champagne. An ice-cold glass doesn't sound bad right about now.

I step into a pair of yoga pants and pull on a plain black sports bra from the assortment of garments that have made their way with us from Liberty City to the yacht.

I toss a towel over my head and do my best to dry my hair. I scrub the plush white cloth over my mass of tangled hair as I walk barefoot into the salon. When I remove the towel from my head, I nearly scream at the unexpected sight of two figures on the white leather couch.

The scream dies on my lips when I see it’s Susan Lowry and Ed Compton—perched there with smug smiles on their faces, flutes of the ice-cold champagne I'd had designs on earlier held aloft as if it were simply cocktail hour.

Blood rushes in my ears, and I'm worried I'm about to pass out when Susan reaches out a hand to me—the large diamond center stone of her wedding ring winking in the light.

Like a trained dog, I reach for her.

For so many years, this was the hand that I held—that I looked for when I needed help.

As soon as our fingers touch, I recoil.

“What are you doing here?” I struggle to breathe, my lungs starving for oxygen as if I can't seem to catch a breath.

“Louise, darling, I should think that's obvious.” Susan croons condescendingly.

Compton rolls his eyes and tosses back a deep slug of his champagne.

“Come on, kid. You've got a lot of fight in you, but you're not stupid,” he scoffs, slouching down on the white leather couch.

“It's true we had hoped that you would cooperate where your parents had not,” Lowry sighs regretfully. “Of course, whether or not your parents decided to cooperate with us wouldn't have saved them from elimination. As soon as they discovered those indicators, the very moment they developed the serum—we no longer needed them.”

“You, on the other hand, Louise, we do need. You are the key to everything.”

My head begins to swim with panic and I desperately pray that this is just another dream, another nightmare.

“It would have been easy to kill you, to eliminate you like your parents. But, you see—it's rather difficult for a shadowy cabal to profit off of the Zeitnot virus without a cure. Of course, once we've figured out how to develop such a cure, we won't have a need for you any longer, but—Compton has more confidence in our R&D than I do. I have a feeling you'll be around long enough to be very, very uncomfortable If you don't cooperate.”

I let out a single manic laugh. The irony of the first time that I am left on my own since my capture should be now, the moment when I need the Saints the most.

“You've had a good run, Louise. I have to admit that I thought that we would have had you back in our hands much sooner. But the five of you were a scrappy little group, I'll give you that,” Compton concedes.

There isn't much time. I'm not sure how, but they've architected this exact moment to separate me from the others. There will not be a chance for my rescue.

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