angry. How had he found her? How had he gotten into the shelter? Nadice thought about the crunkheads in the fastfood buffet. Coincidence? It didn't seem likely.
" ... goddamnit ... where are you? ... "
She couldn't tell where his voice was coming from. It caromed off the walls, like a reflection in a room full of fun-house mirrors.
Where was Sister Giselle ... the night staff? Someone must be on duty. Surely they had called the police.
A door banged open and someone screamed. There was a brief scuffle, then a thud shook the walls.
Nadice felt the shudder reverberate inside her. She rose, placing a hand against the fabric of the acoustic partition to steady herself. On the other side, the man comforted his wife, rocking her, stroking her hair.
"It's okay," he soothed. "There's nothing to be afraid of. We're safe. It's not him. Trust me."
She couldn't stay here. She had to leave. She made her way to the door, slowly at first, then more quickly. Gripping the knob tightly, she steeled herrself, then turned the handle and peeked out.
Mateus stood across the hallway to her left, next to an open door less than ten meters away. He was flanked by the two crunkheads. They formed a loose circle around a man who sat slumped against the wall. A woman wrapped in a pink nightgown hudddled in the doorway, sniffling.
"Shut the fuck up!" Mateus shouted, discharging flecks of pink-colored spit under the muted LED hall lights.
The woman flinched but continued to whimper. "Leave her alone," Nadice said. She stepped into the hallway and closed the door softly behind her.
Mateus turned. " 'Bout time."
"What do you want?"
He nodded at the crunks and walked toward her.
"Let's go."
"Where?"
His breath stank of cheap wine. "Wherever the fuck I" say." He caught her by the arm.
"I need my stuff," she said, stalling.
"Forget it." His fingers pressed into her biceps. "We'll get you new stuff."
Several more doors on the floor had opened. Out of the corner of her eye, people emerged, some sleep-addled, others irritated, belligerent. They coalesced into a smob of sorts in the middle of the hall.
A stocky, thickset Japanese man stepped forward. "Is there a problem?" He wore black drawstring baggies, a black leather jacket, and a green turban. In his right hand he carried a flute made out of a sawed-off length of white PVC pipe.
"No problem," Mateus said. "Go back to sleep."
"What's going on?" Nadice asked. She kept her voice reasonable and composed, trying to instill some measure of calm into the situation.
He slapped her, his open hand catching the side of her head. She winced, resisting the urge to touch the welt left by one of his rings.
"Keep' it down, " someone in back shouted.
"Yeah," another voice said. "Take it outside."
Nadice dry swallowed. Her tongue felt anesthetized. "All right," she said, hoping to buy time. If she dragged her feet ...
She allowed him to guide her down the stairs. The crunkheads trailed several steps after them, interpossing themselves between Mateus and the smob. More people had gathered on the first floor. No police or private security. What was taking them so long?
Outside the air was cool. Her arm ached where he clutched it. "What's wrong? I thought we had until tomorrow or the next day."
The crunkheads grinned at her, then sauntered casually in the direction of a quick mart across the street.
"I want you close by," Mateus said.
"Why?"
He mumbled something under his breath and an empty transit car detached and sidled up to the curb next to them.
"Get in."
He was afraid, Nadice realized, of something or someone. "What have you done?" she asked.
He shoved her into the car. She sprawled across the padded seats. By the time she righted herself, he'd joined her and pulled the door shut.
He gave her a feral look, his eyes illuminated by the d-splays, ad masks, and nanoFX decals fighting for attention on the interior philm of the car. "Just keep your mouth shut. Don't make things worse for
" ... goddamnit ... where are you? ... "
She couldn't tell where his voice was coming from. It caromed off the walls, like a reflection in a room full of fun-house mirrors.
Where was Sister Giselle ... the night staff? Someone must be on duty. Surely they had called the police.
A door banged open and someone screamed. There was a brief scuffle, then a thud shook the walls.
Nadice felt the shudder reverberate inside her. She rose, placing a hand against the fabric of the acoustic partition to steady herself. On the other side, the man comforted his wife, rocking her, stroking her hair.
"It's okay," he soothed. "There's nothing to be afraid of. We're safe. It's not him. Trust me."
She couldn't stay here. She had to leave. She made her way to the door, slowly at first, then more quickly. Gripping the knob tightly, she steeled herrself, then turned the handle and peeked out.
Mateus stood across the hallway to her left, next to an open door less than ten meters away. He was flanked by the two crunkheads. They formed a loose circle around a man who sat slumped against the wall. A woman wrapped in a pink nightgown hudddled in the doorway, sniffling.
"Shut the fuck up!" Mateus shouted, discharging flecks of pink-colored spit under the muted LED hall lights.
The woman flinched but continued to whimper. "Leave her alone," Nadice said. She stepped into the hallway and closed the door softly behind her.
Mateus turned. " 'Bout time."
"What do you want?"
He nodded at the crunks and walked toward her.
"Let's go."
"Where?"
His breath stank of cheap wine. "Wherever the fuck I" say." He caught her by the arm.
"I need my stuff," she said, stalling.
"Forget it." His fingers pressed into her biceps. "We'll get you new stuff."
Several more doors on the floor had opened. Out of the corner of her eye, people emerged, some sleep-addled, others irritated, belligerent. They coalesced into a smob of sorts in the middle of the hall.
A stocky, thickset Japanese man stepped forward. "Is there a problem?" He wore black drawstring baggies, a black leather jacket, and a green turban. In his right hand he carried a flute made out of a sawed-off length of white PVC pipe.
"No problem," Mateus said. "Go back to sleep."
"What's going on?" Nadice asked. She kept her voice reasonable and composed, trying to instill some measure of calm into the situation.
He slapped her, his open hand catching the side of her head. She winced, resisting the urge to touch the welt left by one of his rings.
"Keep' it down, " someone in back shouted.
"Yeah," another voice said. "Take it outside."
Nadice dry swallowed. Her tongue felt anesthetized. "All right," she said, hoping to buy time. If she dragged her feet ...
She allowed him to guide her down the stairs. The crunkheads trailed several steps after them, interpossing themselves between Mateus and the smob. More people had gathered on the first floor. No police or private security. What was taking them so long?
Outside the air was cool. Her arm ached where he clutched it. "What's wrong? I thought we had until tomorrow or the next day."
The crunkheads grinned at her, then sauntered casually in the direction of a quick mart across the street.
"I want you close by," Mateus said.
"Why?"
He mumbled something under his breath and an empty transit car detached and sidled up to the curb next to them.
"Get in."
He was afraid, Nadice realized, of something or someone. "What have you done?" she asked.
He shoved her into the car. She sprawled across the padded seats. By the time she righted herself, he'd joined her and pulled the door shut.
He gave her a feral look, his eyes illuminated by the d-splays, ad masks, and nanoFX decals fighting for attention on the interior philm of the car. "Just keep your mouth shut. Don't make things worse for
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