Into the Night

             Her gaze dropped sadly to the body, again, and she reached to touch Bryana’s hand – something she hadn’t dared to do with the real body.  “Drugs would have messed with the image, eventually, and Bryana was all about her image.”

            She blinked, and looked up, surprised to find him crouched on Bryana’s other side, his expression concerned.  “You knew her, didn’t you?”

            Calli’s eyes dropped away from his, again, determined to not let him see any real emotion.  Her gaze dropped to Bryana, and she blinked again.  Too bad she couldn’t blame it on allergies, here in the Lexus.  “She was my friend.”

            Her gaze focused on Bryana’s hands, which were clenched in fists against her chest.  Calli’s brow furrowed.  A dull glow emanated from the body’s clenched fists.  That was something she couldn’t remember noticing at the real crime scene.  And yet, she must have, to recreate it here, right?

            “What is it?”

            Calli ignored Drew as she grasped the Lexus image’s wrist, and eased it away from her body.  The arm was stiffened with rigor, and she had to wrestle it over to where she could work the fingers apart.  As she stared down at the shimmery, phosphorescent substance that covered the inside of Bryana’s palm.  “What the hell is this?”

            He leaned closer, and she swore she caught the scent of him.  No one was that good, when it came to avatar building.  She stared at him, and his eyes met hers as he looked up.  “VRDs.”

            “Excuse me?”

            “Virtual Reality Drugs.  That’s what killed your friend here.  They’re—”

            “I know what VRDs are, Drew,” she cut him off in exasperation.  “They’re sensation enhancers that can fool people into believing that what happens in the Lexus is real.  It could definitely explain why she looks like she’s scared out of her mind.  But how do you translate application of VRDs into the real world?”

            He shook his head.  “You don’t.  They don’t exist out there; they’re little more than programming sequence meant to fool the brain.  That’s probably why you saw no signs of this out there.  The drug only shows up here.”

            She frowned, knowing he was right.  It was a twisted kind of logic that had originally led to the development of Virtual Reality Drugs.  Mostly, they were used in sexual experimentation, but like everything else, they were quickly perverted into a way to detach from reality, and to take another mind captive.  She shuddered as she met Drew’s gaze again.  “So, how do I find out which VRD did this?”

            A small, wry smile pulled up his lips as Bryana’s body faded from view.  “Do you trust me?”

            That was the million-credit question, and she hadn’t the faintest idea how to answer him.  One look from those amber eyes turned her body into liquid fire, but her mind was crystal clear, and full to the brim with questions.  But she didn’t want to tip her hand, yet, so she played it cool.

            “Do I have a choice?”

            The crooked, rakish grin he favored her with caused her heart to skip a beat.  Great cyberspace, she was in deep shit, now.

            Inside, the homey atmosphere of the pub surrounded Hope, and she breathed a sigh of pleasure.  This was nice.  She bit her lip, aware that she’d lied to Peter.  She’d never done a pub crawl, back in the States.  She’d only been inside of the bar at the Officer’s Club Bob frequented.  She wasn’t a drinker, and alcohol made her college years difficult enough, without her imbibing, as well.  But she’d imagined what a pub would be like, and it hadn’t been this. 

            “Peter, love!” 

            Her head snapped up at the feminine voice who pronounced that in a heavy Irish brogue, her eyes narrowed, until she saw the source.  Then, her jaw dropped.  This must be Sheila.  Only, she didn’t look a thing like Hope imagined.

            “Close your mouth.”  Peter’s soft aside, in that warm, silky whisper, dragged her attention back to him for just a second as her jaw snapped closed.  Then her gaze went back to Sheila.

            The woman in question was clearly at least sixty years of age, but she looked amazing, for it.  Her platinum blond hair looked natural, and was streaked with gray.  She was a stocky woman, about Hope’s height, but hers wasn’t the form of a woman who indulged.  She was solid, with well-defined arms, one of which was decorated with a snaking ivy-and-roses tattoo.  She wore a halter-top that probably belonged on a woman half her age, but it didn’t seem out of place on Sheila.  She had the rough edges of a biker, though the heart that shone through her vibrant green eyes was warm and welcoming.

            “You never told me your mother was a Hell’s Angel,” she accused Peter in a quiet voice, for his ears only.

            He laughed.  “She wasn’t.  Believe me, Sinead and Sheila are a world apart.  It never ceased to amaze me they’d been friends since childhood.”

            He looked up then, and greeted his mother’s friend as she came out from around the bar, and Hope noticed she wore tight-fitting jeans and boots.  “ ‘lo, Sheila.”

            Peter’s arm was suddenly gone from Hope’s shoulder, as he swept the older woman into a hug and bussed her cheek soundly.  A strange feeling she would swear was jealousy pricked Hope, that he would never greet her like that.  Odd, that feeling.  She had no idea where it came from.  After all, she didn’t want him to greet her like that.  Did she?

            Hope swallowed hard, fighting her own impulses, even as Peter released Sheila and draped his arm back over Hope’s shoulder, this time in a far more possessive manner than he had, before.  “This is Hope MacKenzie.”

            Sheila’s warm green eyes lit with welcome.  “Finally.”

            Hope started.  Something in the way she said that… “Excuse me?”

            Peter’s chuckle, as his hand slid to her waist with a familiarity that didn’t exist, whipped her head his way as he said, “Sheila’s been tryin’ to get me married off for years.  Every woman she meets goes through her radar as wife material.”

            Furious fear shot through Hope.  “I’m not—”

             “Of course you aren’t, lovey,” Sheila acknowledged with a stern look for Peter.  “Come, sit.  You need to eat.”  Her gaze went to Peter, and she frowned, clearly worried.  “Both of you.”

            Sheila was off at a brisk stride, and Peter smiled wryly at Hope as she helped him sit at one of the oak tables.  “Sorry ‘bout that, lass.  She’s got a romantic streak, does our Sheila.”

            Hope nodded, her lip caught between her teeth as she battled impulses she didn’t understand.  Her body and mind were sending her mixed signals, and she wasn’t sure how to deal with that.  So she did what she always did whenever the waves in her life got too choppy.  She avoided it.  Her gaze fixed on the TV over Peter’s shoulder, tuned to the BBC’s world news coverage.  And froze.

            “My god.”  The words slipped from her numb lips as she stared at the image on the screen, as a commercial airliner plowed straight into the side of New York City’s World Trade Center, and searing agony sucked the breath from Hope’s lungs.  She was vaguely aware of the sound of plates crashing to the floor, and Peter’s low oath as he shifted to view the monitor.  She felt another jolt, even as a second plane followed the first down, and Hell descended on Hope’s head.

Look for this exciting second chapter of Project Prometheus, Hope of Heaven, coming this Spring from Aspen Mountain Press, www.aspenmountainpress.com !

Read the story that started it all in IN HER NAME, available now from Aspen Mountain Press at www.aspenmountainpress.com

          The confessional door creaked closed behind him, and Jesse smirked.  This ought to be good.  He hadn’t been inside a confessional in over a year.  The light came on above him, and Jesse leaned forward and lowered his voice.  “Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned.  It’s been over a year since my last confession.”