Part 20 (1/2)

Rolling her neck to loosen up, she decided to recall all the threats her sister had lobbed at her recently. They'd aid her in putting on her best performance of a lunatic ever.

With a final glance skyward, Phoebe had one last thought.

May the power of Nina compel her.

Phoebe jerked the doctor's neck hard, hearing the crack of his fine bones and the stretch of sinew as she twisted it. ”So here's the thing. If I were you, I wouldn't press that b.u.t.ton. Because not only will I break off your finger, I'll eat it as a precursor to, say, your b.a.l.l.s. Nom-nom.” She leered, making her eyes wild.

He bucked against her as she dragged him backward, but she stilled him by clamping her hand tighter over his mealy mouth. ”So, let's talk, yes? Nice and calm-or I'll make good on my promise. Now, if I let go of your mouth, and you whine like the sissy la-la disappointment you're turning out to be-it's on. Got it?”

He nodded against her hand before she threw him into the chair, remembering to temper the brute force with which she did it like Wanda had lectured her. He slammed against the metal, slipping to the floor with a moan.

And there was to be no killing unless absolutely necessary. Also the word, according to Wanda. So if this nutball were lucky, he'd only leave limping-maybe bruised, and it was totally okay to draw blood as long as she'd reached a level where she could resist temptation.

Yet, seeing this insidious jacka.s.s made Phoebe see red. Which was a lovely color on him-especially if it was dripping from his head. She fought for control. After all, she made a promise to Wanda. Even when Nina had encouraged her to kill first, ask questions later, she'd sworn to Wanda she'd always abide by vampire protocol.

Phoebe crouched down on her haunches and glared at her captor. Giving him as little information as possible would be key to keeping herself and the others safe until she could call in the cavalry.

The trick was, she had to ask the right questions so he'd give her some answers without catching on to how much they'd found so far. ”Where am I and who are you, Dr. Horrible?”

”Who are you?” he whispered, fear lacing his tone. Even his perfect hair quivered, leaving Phoebe feeling the stiff breeze of omnipotence.

She smiled again, summoning up one of Nina's menacing smiles that were anything but friendly. She dragged a finger down the side of his face, reveling in his cringe as she taunted. ”Oh, silly. You know who I am. I'm Phoebe Reynolds. You know, your walking, talking lab rat with early-onset Alzheimer's and good hair? Didn't we establish that when I filled those forms out in triplicate to qualify for Frankenstein's eighth grade science project? G.o.d, that was a ch.o.r.e, FYI, and invasive to boot. But back to the dealio at hand. Who are you? And I'd answer fast or who knows what organ I might go for first. I'm all about the sneak attack.” She poked him in the kidney and giggled, throwing her head back in abandon.

His lips thinned and his chin lifted in defiance.

She slid down next to him, folding her legs under her, and nudging his shoulder. ”I don't want to quash your romantic dreams of playing the tough guy here, but let's be serious. You're just not cut out for the part.”

With fingers that almost missed their target due to her speed, Phoebe managed to s.n.a.t.c.h a handful of his hair in her hand and jerk his head to her lap. His whimper of fear was delicious. His eyes, wide and afraid-delicious-er. ”See? Clearly, you're no swarthy swashbuckling match for me. So let's do this.”

Yet, as she talked her smack, the realization hit Phoebe again. She didn't know what waited for her outside that door. And if he didn't answer her, she'd have to make good on her threats.

Still, he remained silent, closing his eyes as if to pretend she wasn't really there. ”Are you really going to make me blow my anger-management recovery? Do you have any idea how many sessions I had to go to to get my crazy temper under control? Swear it. If I lose my fifteen-year chip-there's gonna be an organ harvesting right here in this room. G.o.d, they're so b.l.o.o.d.y. And the mess? Your cleanup crew'll be in here till day's end unwrapping your entrails like a Christmas present. So speak, douche bag-or die.”

Just like old times, Phoebe, eh? It was uncanny how easily she'd fallen back into the role of predator. She hadn't threatened a life in years. Not since Mark's trouble their junior year.

Because there were lives at stake, she hoped whoever ruled the universe would forgive her.

Looking down at this strangely handsome man, she saw he still wasn't budging. She flashed him a coy pout. ”It doesn't have to be like this, you know. You, silently valiant. Me, really hacked off by it. We,” she gritted out from between her tightly clenched teeth, giving his hair another hard yank, ”could have been such good friends.” Her final words were a scream in his face as she rose, dragging him behind her to cross the room and attempt a peek out the door.

She tried the door handle only to find it was locked. Of course. Why not ruin her manicure, too? They'd all but stripped her of her girly goods anyway.

A hard yank, and she popped the door open, poking her head out to see rows and rows of fluorescent lights lining a crude, cement ceiling. c.o.c.king her head, she listened until the good doctor struggled again.

The shake she doled out was hard, silencing him. She hissed instructions at him. ”Again. I don't want to remind you, but a hero you ain't. So why ruin a perfectly good s.h.i.+rt trying to get away from me?”

The hall was clear for the moment.

What to do, what to do?

Kneeling down, Phoebe gave him one last chance. She drew him up close to her face. ”How do you feel about sharing now? It's your last opportunity before your life light hits the skids.”

The words he finally did utter chilled her to the bone. It was when she knew she'd been made. ”Dear G.o.d, you're not breathing.” His blue eyes s.h.i.+mmered in some sort of twisted excitement and his lower lip quivered. ”You're one of them!” he screamed, a scream flavored with a dash of bizarre delight.

Ugh. Cover blown.

If there were Angie d.i.c.kinson awards to be handed out-she was going to miss this round of Police Woman 2012.

Without thinking twice, Phoebe dropped him to the ground with a solid right hook to the side of his head. His eyes rolled back before his s.h.i.+ny blond head lolled to one side and he was rendered unconscious, if she was judging correctly by the speed of his sluggish pulse.

Dragging him to the bed, she hurled him onto it and covered him with the sheet before racing to the door. A quick glance outside told her the coast was still clear, but it wouldn't be for long once someone realized the doctor was missing. She swooped up his clipboard and shoved it under her arm before stepping out into the hallway.

On swift feet, she launched down the long, tunnel-like corridor in far-reaching sprints. Pipes lined the ceiling above, but she only caught brief glimpses of them as they whizzed by her line of vision.

The goal here was to find something-anything-that might help them stop the agonizing process they were headed for.

Oh, and get the h.e.l.l out with the information while she was still upright.

Double doors caught her eye when she made a left after hitting a dead end. Voices coming from behind the doors raised the hackles on the back of her neck.

Her legs trembled. Her hands shook, but she couldn't force herself to look inside the window. Maybe what they needed to figure this out was just behind this door. What if there was nothing they could do to stop the decomposition from happening? What if there was no answer other than the obvious.

Death. With a capital D that rhymes with C and that stands for casualty.

She ran trembling hands over her face and waffled.

Jesus, Phoebe, a voice inside her head scorned. What would Nina say? This is just my personal thought, but I think her rant would be brought to you by the letters F and B, and it would go something like this: Get it together, f.u.c.kwit Barbie!

Oh, f.u.c.k Nina and her name-calling. She wasn't the one who was d.a.m.n well in here all alone with no idea how to get out, and worse, shoeless. So let Nina call her whatever she liked. She wanted out.

But out wouldn't solve anything. This was the closest anyone was ever going to get to this madness. And there was more than just her to consider. She might have found a reprieve for her Alzheimer's death sentence, but there was a new vampire death threat to take its place. If something happened to her, what would happen to ...

No. She would not allow that thought to play on her fears.

Steeling her determination, Phoebe called upon her will of iron. The one her mother said would be the death of her.

Hah. No truer words.

Inching along the wall, she clung to the clipboard like it was her lifeline and craned her neck.

And then she saw.

The clipboard clattered to the floor, making a sound so brittle against the cement floor it vibrated in her brain.

She had to close her eyes and force them back open again in order to process what was in front of her.

Could just this once, the ongoing horror of this freak show not involve any more images that might have to stay with her for an eternity? Why did everything have to be so Nightmare on Elm Street?