With This Ring Page 4

  To his right, a couple of cars slowed as the nearest stop light turned red. Vic stepped off the curb, his mind already focused on the stuttering neon sign ahead. The words Joe’s OPEN blinked beneath empty tubes that still spelled out Hoagie’s. He was thinking maybe he’d switch it up today, get a Reuben instead of the pastrami—or hell, get both, he was hungry enough—when a psychic shout tore through his head. Shit!

  Another mental voice screamed at him. That asshole’s not stopping, oh, my God, oh, God. The roar of a revving engine filled the cold air, followed by the smash of metal and broken glass tinkling to the ground.

  Vic stopped in mid-step, halfway across the road, and turned toward the sound. A few feet away at the intersection, the two cars still waited for the light to change, but the looks of horror on their drivers’ faces made Vic dip into their minds. There was a third car behind them, a small VW Rabbit, trying to squeeze between them and zoom through the light. When Vic stepped forward, he could see the VW, its dark blue paint chipped, one headlight shattered, the front bumper dangling from one corner like a crooked grin. The gap between the two idling cars was too narrow for the car to get through, but the driver didn’t seem to realize that.

  As Vic watched, the VW reversed a few feet, then rammed the cars in front of it, stubbornly trying to weasel its way between them. When Vic reached out for the driver, he found a mind clouded with drink and something much more sinister, something vile, that made Vic want to retch. Meth, he suspected, though he didn’t know for sure. He reeled in his thoughts before the drugs in the driver’s system tainted his.

  The VW pulled back again, then threw itself at the cars. The other drivers were too stunned to do anything, and Vic could sense that there were children in one of the vehicles. Acting quickly, he dipped into the minds of the two drivers, a woman heading to the grocery store with three kids in the backseat and a man late for a dentist appointment. With no time for finesse, he took control of the drivers’ minds and forced them to twist the wheels of their cars in opposite directions.

  A quick tap of the gas sent the man’s vehicle up onto the median, the front tire popping with an explosive sound when it hit the curb. So much for filling that cavity, Vic thought sourly.

  The other car veered to the right. Before Vic could guide it too far, the woman’s maternal instinct kicked in and she pulled down the side street, out of harm’s way. Seeing an opening, the driver of the VW gunned his engine—he clipped the tail end of the woman’s sedan as he sped through the intersection, shoving her car up onto the curb, as well. The light was still red, and an oncoming delivery truck squealed to a stop to avoid a collision.

  The VW didn’t even notice. It accelerated through the intersection, heading straight for Vic. Projecting his thoughts directly into the driver’s addled mind, Vic taunted, ::Come on, fucker. Try to hit me. I dare you.::

  At the last second, when the driver realized Vic wasn’t moving out of the way, the VW jerked to one side. As it passed, Vic reached out and grabbed the door handles on the driver’s side. Energy burst from his muscles, flaring down his arms, strengthening his grip. He felt the resistance of steel on flesh and was even pulled forward a step before he dug in his heels and stood his ground. His mind snarled like a caged beast. What was this idiot playing at? The fucker.

  With a leonine growl, Vic yanked back. Metal screamed as the doors peeled off the car’s frame, held tight in Vic’s unyielding grip. In surprise, the driver slammed on the brakes, and the VW executed a graceful 180º turn in the middle of Broad Street. Not wearing his seat belt, the driver tumbled from the front seat to sprawl on the ground. In a thin, reedy voice, he muttered, “My car!”

  Vic tossed aside the doors of the VW. They clattered when they hit the road, the windows shattering on impact. The driver glanced up, saw Vic’s menacing appearance like the wrath of an angry god standing before him, and scrambled to his feet. “Oh, shit,” he mumbled. His eyes widened in disbelief as he tried to find his footing. “Oh, fuck.”

  ::Try to run,:: Vic told him, his mental voice ringing out through the addict’s mind like judgment. ::If you can.::

  The driver took his advice, but only got a few yards before Vic tackled him. Grinding the punk’s face into the road, Vic sat on his back and pulled his arms around behind him to pin him in place. In the distance, he heard the familiar wail of sirens, and dimly he became aware of the gathering crowd, the braying horns of backed up traffic, and the supernatural energy still coursing through his body.

  What a way to start the new year.

  * * * *

  “Why am I not surprised to find you here?”

  At the sound of the woman’s voice, Vic glanced up from his sandwich—a pastrami on rye, piled twice as high as usual and on the house, according to the dazed cashier who had taken Vic’s order with a star-struck look in her eyes. A police officer stood by his table, notepad in one hand, blonde bangs peeking out beneath the cap she wore. More blonde hair framed her narrow face, strands escaping from the bun at the nape of her neck. Shrugging out of her heavy jacket, she tossed it to the booth opposite Vic, then tugged off her cap and threw it down as well. “Mind if I join you?” Without waiting for an answer, Officer Kendra Jones sat down. “How was your holiday, Vic?”

  “Fine.” Vic took another bite of his sandwich and chewed slowly, waiting for the inevitable questioning to begin.

  Kendra was one of the few people who knew of his powers—he’d confided in her when Jordan kidnapped Matt and he needed her help in finding his lover. She was a good ten years his junior, and underneath her tough policewoman façade, Vic knew she was extraordinarily proud of the fact that she knew him on a first name basis. The guys at the precinct called him “Superman,” and it gave her endless pleasure to be able to drop his name in casual conversation with her fellow officers.

  “Just fine?” Kendra ran a hand over her hair, smoothing down the stray strands that puffed up from her head. “How’s Matt?”

  Vic shrugged.

  After a moment, she flipped open the notepad she carried and asked, “Want to tell me what happened here?”

  Vic glanced at the flowing script that covered the pages of the notepad. “Looks like you already heard.”

  “I’ll tell you what I heard.” Kendra frowned at him—he didn’t have to be able to read minds to know she was a little upset he wasn’t more forthcoming, but Vic had a natural distrust of authority, even if it was someone he sort of already knew. “A kid out there says, and I quote, ‘He ripped the car doors off like Wolverine, then flew at the guy like Superman and pounded him into the ground like the Incredible Hulk.’“

  Vic almost choked on his soda. “I can’t fly,” he snorted.

  Closing the notepad, a sign that this was off the record, Kendra asked softly, “So what power is it today?”

  “The fucker ran a red light.” If Vic’s harsh language bothered the officer, she didn’t let it show. “Reckless driving, driving under the influence, menace to society, call it what you want. He was hell on wheels and I stopped him before he could kill anyone, himself included. Happy?”

  With her chin in her hand, Kendra stared at him for a long moment as if lost in thought. When she finally spoke, her voice was low, intimate. “Why don’t you join the force?”

  Vic laughed.

  “No, really,” Kendra said, earnest. “God, Vic, we could use a guy like you, and you know it.”

  Somehow, Vic didn’t think so. “A guy who calls in sick at least twice a month,” he pointed out, “because he has some fucked up power that makes it impossible to go out in public.”

  “A guy with incredible strength,” Kendra countered.

  Vic replied, “Last month it was invisibility. I couldn’t control it, and I had the flu, too. Every time I sneezed, I disappeared.”

  “You can hear people’s thoughts,” Kendra pointed out. “You can stop criminals before they act.”

  But Vic shook his head. “These powers aren’t mine.”

 
“They’re a gift.” Kendra reached across the table and touched his wrist. “It’s like God gave you something—”

  Vic shook her hand off his. “God didn’t. Matt did.” When she opened her mouth to speak, he said, “Look, I know you mean well, but I keep telling you, I’m not some sort of comic book superhero out to save the world. These powers I have come from Matt. I may use them, but in my mind, they belong to him.”

  “But if you can help others,” she started.

  With a bitter laugh, Vic told her, “I do what I can, when I can. I don’t go looking for trouble, all right? Much as you might find that hard to believe.”

  Kendra tried again. “Just give it some thought—”

  Vic shook his head, adamant. “Sorry. I’m not interested.”

  Chapter 4

  As swim instructor for the gym, Matt’s position took on a more administrative quality during the winter months. Only die-hard swimmers came out—the majority of gym members preferred to focus on the exercise machines for the first few weeks of the new year, until their resolutions waned and they gave up on trying to lose weight. So for most of the day, Matt had the pool to himself.

  His day at work usually started with a morning swim first thing, to get the blood pumping and keep his muscles in shape. After a shower to rinse off the chlorine, he sat at the desk in his office, pouring over invoices and other bothersome paperwork, while outside his large plate glass window, the water in the pool rippled coolly. It looked so inviting, and often he’d find himself staring out at the rippling reflection off the tiled walls, lost in thoughts that usually involved Vic and some degree of nakedness. God, he loved that man.

  After a quick lunch at noon, Matt stationed himself in the lifeguard chair from two to three, bored, as he watched elderly women with flabby arms and swim caps move through the slow motions of the senior citizens’ water aerobics class. By the time the class ended, a few members of the adult swim team would have arrived; Matt kept his perch poolside, whistle between his lips and stopwatch in one hand, as he clocked the team through maneuvers. Shortly after four o’clock, he’d peel away his shirt, kick off his sandals, and dive into the heated pool for another few laps himself before he showered off and headed home.

  Where he’d cook dinner and wait for Vic to return.

  It was quarter to five in the afternoon when he stepped from the locker room into his office, his hair damp from the shower. He wore street clothes, and in his mind was already rifling through the contents of his kitchen cabinets, mulling over what to make for dinner. Chicken parmesan was high on the list—a heavy, hearty meal, perfect for a winter’s night. If there were still a few chicken breasts in the freezer, and if he hadn’t used all his mom’s homemade spaghetti sauce the last time they had pasta…

  When the phone on his desk rang, Matt reached for it without thinking. It was Roxie, he knew, and chances were, she had Vic on hold. A glance at the clock showed his lover had another three hours before he clocked out for the day, but maybe he’d taken a break to call in, see if Matt needed a ride home. I love that man. Into the phone, he said, “Yo. What’s the 411, moxie Roxie?”

  “Okay, you know what, Matt?” Roxie’s voice had a slightly pissy tone, but that was normal for her, especially so late in the day. “I hate to be the one to break this to you, but cute as you are, you ain’t hip.”

  Matt grinned. “I try.”

  “You really shouldn’t.”

  With a laugh, Matt told her, “Lighten up, it’s quitting time. You got my guy on the other line for me?”

  Roxie snorted. “No.” Matt’s smile slid away. “I got a doctor on the phone for you.”

  “A what?” Matt sank into his office chair, mind whirling out in a dozen directions at once. “What’s wrong? Why?”

  “Calm down,” Roxie said, her tone softening. “Don’t worry, I asked if this was about Vic. It’s not.”

  The tension that had wound itself up into a tight coil at the base of Matt’s spine relaxed, but only slightly. “Then who—”

  “Dr. V. J. Channa…” She struggled to pronounce the name. “Shawna Ria Pata, some such crap. I asked if he was a bill collector and he got a little pissy with me. Said he was a doctor, and it was imperative he speak to you today. You have an appointment coming up or something?”

  Shoving aside his invoices, Matt glanced at the monthly calendar covering his desk. “Not that I know of…” The name didn’t sound familiar, but the last time he’d gone for a check-up, there had been an Indian physician on staff. Maybe this had to do with the cholesterol test he’d had done back in November. Had he called for the results? He couldn’t remember.

  Though it was almost time to leave, Matt didn’t think the doctor would keep him on the phone for long. “Patch him through,” he told Roxie.

  There was a click on the other end of the line, then a yawning silence. Another click, and Matt heard faint breathing. Someone cleared his throat in Matt’s ear. Not trusting Roxie’s mangled pronunciation of the physician’s name, Matt simply asked, “Doctor?”

  “Mr. diLorenzo?”

  The rich voice was heavily accented, making it impossible to guess the man’s age. Matt would say older than himself, which didn’t mesh with his memory of the fresh faced man he’d spotted at the medical office. He waited.

  After a moment, when it became obvious he wouldn’t speak, the man said, “Hello. I am Dr. Channarayapatra. You probably wonder why I called.”

  “Is this about that cholesterol test?” Absently, Matt began straightening the papers on his desk. “Because I really meant to follow up on it earlier, I swear.”

  With a warm chuckle, the caller assured him, “No, I’m not that kind of doctor.”

  Unease prickled Matt’s spine, sending a shiver through him. A voice inside him whispered, Hang up. It sounded suspiciously like Vic.

  “I am head of research and development,” the man explained, “here at J.A.S. Armour Laboratories. You’ve heard of it, yes?”

  Matt shook his head, a gesture lost on the doctor. “I’m sorry, I really don’t think—”

  The doctor raised his voice, speaking over Matt. “We’re a prophylactics company. Just a few miles south of Richmond. I’m sure you’ve seen our flagship product in stores.”

  A memory flashed in Matt’s mind—an aisle in a pharmacy, Vic reading the back of a bottle of K-Y Jelly that claimed to work like liquid ball bearings and Matt leaning against his lover’s arm, waiting for him to decide which lube to buy. Idly, Matt had stared at the display of condoms, thinking that at the rate he and Vic made love, it was a good thing they didn’t bother using rubbers. They’d be running out every few days, and the damned things were so expensive any more. Besides, how would they choose which to buy? There had to be over twenty different brands, easily, from the ever-present Trojans, to the novelty varieties, to the local favorite, Armour Condoms. Below the hand-written sign that declared them made locally, the company’s tagline read, Come Armed®.

  In a low voice, the doctor murmured, “Surely you know our product. A man such as yourself…”

  With a jolt, Matt was startled from the past. “I’m hanging up now,” he announced. “I don’t know how you managed to talk your way past my receptionist, but I assure you, it won’t happen again.”

  “No, no, no.” A self-depreciating laugh filled Matt’s ear. “You misunderstand me, sir. I can help you.”

  “Not that it’s any of your business,” Matt said frostily, “but I don’t use condoms. Good day.”

  His caller hollered, “Wait! I am going about this wrong, I apologize. But tell me, Mr. diLorenzo. Matt.”

  Matt started, “How do you—”

  The doctor kept talking, as if afraid Matt would hang up before he could finish. “Your powers put your lover in jeopardy, do they not? He’s always on the news. Why, this morning—”

  “What happened this morning?” Matt asked, fearful again. He had to hang up and call Vic. “What are you talking about?”

  For
a moment, silence. Matt’s fingers hovered over the release switch, ready to disconnect the call and dial the numbers to Vic’s cell. He’d left his lover in the bed, drifting back to sleep…what had happened after that? It took all the strength he had not to slam the phone down on the desk, again and again, until he got the answers he wanted. What had happened to Vic?

  When the doctor finally spoke, his voice was gentle. “I’ve seen this before,” he told Matt. “In my own country, my own family even. I’ve finally perfected a…not so much a cure, really, but a solution. A way to negate the powers, if you will. Inhibit them. Without any changes to your current sex life.”

  Matt whispered, “What happened to Vic this morning?”

  “Wouldn’t you like knowing your love didn’t put him in constant danger?” the doctor replied.

  “Armour Labs,” Matt murmured. The whole conversation seemed surreal, and it was amazing that despite the terror fizzling away inside him, his voice still sounded so calm through the phone. If this man had a way to stop the powers without interrupting their relationship, didn’t Matt owe it to himself to learn more?

  Didn’t he owe it to Vic?

  Taking a deep breath, he asked, “What’s your name again?”

  * * * *

  Over dinner, Matt told Vic, “I got a call today.”

  From across the dining room table, Vic looked up, distrust instantly clouding his features. Since he’d come home from work, they hadn’t said two words to each other—Matt could feel his lover prodding the edges of his mind, feeling him out, but he wasn’t quite ready to let him in yet. He wanted Vic to be the one to tell him about the stunt that morning; he didn’t want to have to bring it up. But every minute that passed only made him madder, and he wanted Vic to figure out why. Without any help from him. The moment he’d felt his lover’s consciousness brush over his as Vic approached their apartment, Matt had clamped down his thoughts. With a mental sigh, Vic had asked, ::Matty, what’s going on?::