The couch cushioned my aching body, and my exhaustion caught up with me. I closed my eyes.
***
A scream.
I jolted awake. Was I dreaming? A nightmare?
I sat alone in the living room. Something crashed in the kitchen, and another scream rang out.
Not a nightmare.
We were under attack.
What could I do? For all of my martial arts training, I'd never been especially good at it. Lucy always kicked my butt. Add to that my pregnancy, and the fact I'd used up all my strength earlier, and I was pretty useless in a fight—at least physically.
I hid behind the couch and peeked around the side, mentally scanning the house. The professor and Brad fought someone in the kitchen. Their thoughts spun wildly through my mind: pain, fear, anger, protectiveness toward me and my baby.
I tried to push into the attacker's mind, but he forced me away like bug repellent.
Another scream.
I pushed harder. Bright red light shot through my mind as pain swirled in and out. My head spun, held together only by sheer will and the hands I pressed to it.
A splinter of an opening grazed my mind. Little by little, I wiggled my way through the enemy's defenses until I found the pulsing center that protected him. With one great heave of energy, I attacked.
His thoughts rushed into me in such a jumble that I couldn't understand anything, but I could feel the kill instinct and knew my friends didn't have much time. It would be so easy to wrap my will around his and force him to stop.
I hated my hypocrisy even as I forced him to his knees and pried his fingers off the bloody knife in his hand.
It was too easy.
The man sucked up my energy like a dry sponge in water. I'd never felt anything like it. Something fed on my power. I tried to pull out, to release his mind, but a sticky coil had wrapped itself around my mind. I was stuck.
This connection would kill me if someone didn't beat him or knock him unconscious.
My feet carried me to the kitchen. Everything around me took on a blurry, Monet-like quality—not my favorite artist. But wouldn't it be fun to paint the house with all the swirls I see right now? What? I'm losing it. I need to stay focused.
Brad lay on the floor, covered in blood and bruises. A large knife stuck out of the professor's chest. The world felt far away; even my emotions hovered just out of reach.
A void grew in me, a dimness that brushed away the colors of life in small strokes, leaving only grey.
The man in black looked at me. His eyes bugged out as though something pushed at them from the inside.
He fought my control with a power not his own. The Seeker.
I blasted questions into his mind. "Where is he? Where is the Seeker? How do we find him and destroy him?"
'I can't tell you.'
"Then I'll find out for myself."
I dug—past his recent memories, past his thoughts, into the locked doors in the creepy corners of his mind.
There, as from a disorganized filing system, I extracted bits and pieces of what I needed.
Then my powers failed completely.
Chapter 43 – Sam
It helps to have a superhero boyfriend when your own super powers die.
Drake smashed through the kitchen door just as the man in black picked his knife up off the floor and raised it above my chest.
Drake crashed into him.
I sat paralyzed while my boyfriend unleashed a rage unlike anything I'd ever seen.
A fist into the man's skull, crashing through bone and brain.
A foot through his guts, splashing intestines onto the tile floor.
Bloody shreds of body parts, no longer human, covering the kitchen.
Bile rose in my gut, and vomit forced itself out to mix with the gore.
Brad stirred, and relief filled up the parts of me not mesmerized by the horror.
He was alive.
I crawled over to him, puddles of blood staining my pajama knees. "How badly are you hurt?"
"I don't think anything's broken."
The professor still hadn't moved. His chest rose in shallow, rapid hiccups, and blood pooled around the knife stuck in his chest. "Brad, you have to call 911. Now!"
Brad pulled a cell phone from his pocket and dialed.
The blows of Drake's fists slowed and finally stopped, and the man with more power than any one person should have, slumped to the floor. "I should've been here. I thought I could protect you better if I left. I'm so sorry, Sam."
An instinct to comfort him warred with the revulsion I felt for what he'd just done.
The bloody kitchen and dead man on the floor overwhelmed my emotions, however. "The cops and ambulance will be here soon. What do we do with the body... what's left of it?"
Drake stood, walked to the sink and ran water over his hands. "We need to get out of here, before they come."
I looked up in surprise. "No! I'm not leaving Bernard until we know he's okay. He risked his life to save me tonight."
Drake dried his hands. "Then don't make his sacrifice worthless by staying and getting caught. He'd want us to leave."