Edge of Instinct: Rabids Book 1 Page 3

  Spinning on her heel, Amiel raced away from the death filled room and those damning glacial eyes. Her mother didn’t follow; Amiel knew she wouldn’t. Malinda was above making a scene, with witnesses watching wide eyed at her daughter’s hasty retreat. She wasn’t however above sending her henchmen to do the job for her. Knowing this, Amiel avoided the elevator, racing down the stairs in an attempt to beat the goons to the hospital’s exits.

  Amiel reached the east service exit unhindered but she didn’t stop running there. Her only goal was to get as far away from the hospital and her mother as possible. She hurtled over trash cans in narrow alleys, ducked the low branches of saplings on Main Street, and sprinted down the busy streets of Rockville. She let her tears flow freely as she breathed the brisk late-summer air, ran until her lungs burned so badly she had to hunch over on a bench and gasp in long agonizing pulls of air. Perhaps she should have been concerned about the fact that her feet had carried her to the outer park regions, an area that was deemed dangerous even in the daylight hours. It was far too close to the Inner Walls; the last defensible position if the outer walls were breached. As it happened, this was also the place where the lowlifes and the drifters stayed. As perfect as her mother’s city appeared to be, Amiel knew about the shady parts of the city that Malinda tried to ignore. As long as the visible areas weren’t eye sores, Malinda couldn’t care less about the dealings beyond the edge of the park..

  With the conflicted emotions tearing through her body, Amiel didn’t care that she was very likely in danger. In fact, she found she almost welcomed death. She couldn’t imagine facing her mother every day without her brother there to be her pillar of strength. Heck, she didn’t know what she was going to do in the next few hours when she had to go home. Though Jaron had been far away these last seven years, she’d always known he was out there, that he loved her and supported her. Now that love and support was gone, there was no one out there to watch her back, nor understand the plight of living with her mother.

  Lying on a stone bench, she sobbed until her eyes felt raw and gritty. Eventually the hiccupping sobs faltered into silent, unfocused staring contests with the un-manicured grass as it waved in the wind. At some point she stumbled to her feet and began wandering the expansive parks and their trails until the sky darkened with dusk. Only when the retiring sun left the park in such a state of darkness that she could no longer see the trails did she admit defeat, and wander through the streets toward the cold building called home. No one had bothered her, in the parks nor on the streets as she walked home. If there was a single soul nearby, she hadn’t even notice. The guards at the prestigious gated community in which they lived silently nodded to her as she slumped by them. She heaved a resigned sigh as her key slid into the knob, the cold metal beneath her palm a physical reflection of her daily life.

  “Where have you been?” Amiel squeezed her eyes shut as Malinda’s distant malevolent voice floated up to her from the dining room the moment the door opened. Amiel turned, looking out into the shadowed streets. She could run for it, run back out into the night and never come back. Her foot crossed the threshold, gravitating toward the darkness outside that whispered of freedom. At that moment a curfew truck began its slow progress down their road, its spotlight sweeping the streets and yards. The light landed on Amiel causing her to freeze reflexively. She heard the window of the truck squeak as it came down. Squinting into the blinding light Amiel couldn’t see the driver.

  “Have a good night, Miss Amiel,” the man in the truck stated formally. His words were kind but his tone was clear; Get back inside, and don’t come out till dawn. With a grim smile she waved to the patrol man and closed the door.

  “Not tonight,” she whispered to herself, the lock snicking into place with a sound of finality. Forehead pressing to the wooden door, she sighed in self-defeat. What was worse was the feeling of relief she had felt at the man’s convenient arrival. “Coward,” she muttered under her breath. Would Jaron have made a run for it? Probably. In fact, he likely wouldn’t have come back to the house in the first place. But Amiel wasn’t brave like Jaron, she never had been.

  “I asked you a question, and I expect an answer!” Amiel cringed as Malinda’s shout from the parlor scraped across her senses. Her mother was clearly eager to brow beat her now that they were away from the public eye. Defiance kindled in her stomach, burning with a slow ache as she steeled herself and turned away from the door. Eying the stairs she rushed toward them, hoping she could get to her room before her mother intercepted.

  “Amiel Charlotte Hilden, stop this instant!” her mother demanded. Amiel paused with one foot on the stairs of escape. Her sanctuary was only twelve steps away. She lifted her left foot to take the next step. “Stop! Do I need to have Geno hold you down again?” Amiel winced at the threat. Even after five years the memory still haunted her.

  Claustrophobic terror rose, threatening to suffocate her as she thought back on the experience. She had never felt so violated in her life as she had in those agonizingly eternal thirty minutes. The memory completely stilled her efforts to flee this argument, the rebellious urge to disobey instantly quashed. As though summoned by her internal dread, Geno appeared in the archway of the foyer with that familiar hungry look in his eyes and his mouth stretched in a sickening grin. He was clearly eager for a repeat of the event that had so scared Amiel. She wasn’t about to give him the opportunity. Grudgingly Amiel descended to the last step and waited for the wrath of Malinda Hilden to spew forth like a great volcano.

  “Good girl.” Malinda’s voice dripped with condescension. “Now, where were you?”

  “Out.”

  “I’m aware of that, twit. What were you doing?” Malinda pressed.

  “I was just walking around, thinking.”

  “Thinking? I’d hardly describe what you were doing as thinking. Margery Tildy called me not half an hour ago to inform me that her son saw you walking through the parkways of all places. Is this true?” Amiel knew there was no point in denying it. Even if it hadn’t been true, Malinda would never listen to the word of her own child over that of another socialite family.

  “Perhaps Margery Tildy should be more concerned about what her son was doing at the parks to have seen me there in the first place.” Malinda waved her hand through the air as though batting away a pesky mosquito.

  “That is none of your concern.”

  “What I do with my time is hardly their concern, either,” Amiel replied, the defiance in her belly boiling with an acidic sensation. Malinda’s eyes brimmed with barely contained rage.

  “Are you insane?” Malinda took a dramatic glance at her diamond watch. “Curfew hits in five minutes. You do realize that, don’t you?” Amiel shrugged again. “You are aware of why we have a curfew, aren’t you? Somewhere in that spoiled little head of yours is a knowledge of what lies beyond the safe haven I have created for you here, isn’t there?”

  “It’s probably no more dangerous out there than what I face in my own home.” Amiel cast a disgusted look over Malinda’s shoulder at the grinning henchmen. Malinda’s eyes gleamed with malicious intent and she swung her hand out before Amiel saw it coming. Her hand met Amiel’s cheek with a loud smack and a white hot flash of pain.

  “Enough!” Amiel’s cheek stung under the burning welt rising from Malinda’s sharp slap. “I will listen to no more of this disrespect in my own home! Geno, come keep my daughter company while I try to get some semblance of truth from her snarky mouth.” Amiel pushed the tears back, tensing as Geno slunk to stand behind her, sleazy grin firmly in place. He stood just close enough that she could feel his hot breath on her neck. She swallowed against the nauseating rise of emotions within, dizzied from their overwhelming sensations. It felt as though something inside her were fighting to claw its way out.

  “Now, let’s discuss the hospital, shall we?” Amiel’s stomach twisted at the sickly sweet tone that accompanied her mother’s ugly temper. “Was I dreaming or did you actually have the
audacity to put your hands on me?” Amiel bit her lip, unsure how to reply.

  “I…was upset,” she offered haltingly, torn by the disconcerting need to walk carefully and angrily lash out at once.

  “Upset. Stupid more like. You are lucky there was an audience, or the outcome would have been much different.” Her mother paused to let the words sink in. “You will never defy me in public again, are we clear?” Amiel’s eyes dropped to the floor, seemingly abashed. Truthfully, she simply didn’t want Malinda to see the defiance burning in their depths.

  “As for the wandering about in the parkways, after the death of your brother I should think you’d have enough sense to realize the dangers I constantly warn you of are hardly a joking matter.” Amiel clenched her teeth. It was so very much like Malinda to use her dead son as a gambit in the effort to demean and guilt trip her remaining living child. And she wasn’t through yet.

  “You’ve always been headstrong- your father and brother spoiled you relentlessly. But your behavior as of late has been atrocious. That display of physical violence in the hospital was a new low for you.” She rubbed at her wrist as though suddenly pained by it. Amiel looked away from the bruises she saw there, slightly sickened by the turmoil of emotions they further stirred within. She felt terrible she’d caused that damage, and yet a dark part of her was proud of what they stood for. She shuddered at the thought, staring at the floor as Malinda continued.

  “You know we are a top contributor for the hospital, and yet you still insist on embarrassing me. I don’t have to remind you how much I hate being embarrassed, do I?” Amiel clenched her teeth, not wanting a second welt to match her other cheek. “I was rather surprised at your irresponsible choice to leave me alone to handle the dealings of your brother’s funeral preparations. I trust you will not be so disrespectful as to miss his funeral tomorrow morning.” Amiel’s teeth clenched harder, so tightly she felt they would surely crack. Her mother had chosen to not so much as visit her son while he spent two weeks in the hospital, dying a painful and prolonged death. No, her mother had deigned to not “torture her soul” with such dealings. Instead, she left her children to face the plight alone. And now she had the audacity to act the martyr. Classic Malinda.

  “What time.” She knew well enough by now that no one could ever win an argument against this woman. Malinda Hilden was always right, even when she wasn’t. Or at least that’s what she boasted to all of her high society pals. True to form, Malinda’s haughty smile returned in full force, knowing victory was hers.

  “9 AM. Delpenton Cemetery. At the family plot, of course.”

  “Of course,” Amiel replied wearily. Malinda scrutinized her for a long moment, tight lipped sneer shifting her pristine features.

  “Good. Now put something on your face and go to bed. You need your beauty sleep. Your face looks as haggard as a homeless tramp’s. We wouldn’t want you looking so ill-used tomorrow in front of the cameras, would we?” Amiel’s heart flip flopped, stopping her dead in her tracks.

  “Cameras? Why will they be there?”

  “Of course they’ll be there, idiot child. How could they not show up for the funeral of Malinda Hilden’s son, a decorated war hero?” Amiel’s eyes narrowed while her mother practically preened over the upcoming attentions from the press. Suddenly she didn’t feel so guilty over the bruises she’d left on that pale skin. Moving far around Geno, she headed up the stairs.

  “Oh, and Amiel dearest,” Malinda called up sweetly, once again halting Amiel’s ascent. She stared up at the final step, that unfamiliar surge of anger rising within as though she would throw herself at her mother if she had to endure one more moment of gazing upon her cruel grin.

  “No more ugly temper tantrums and late night strolls.” The syrupy threat floated up to her, coy and innocent. Amiel’s grip on the smooth banister became painful as she nodded stiffly and trudged up the last steps. Her heart was doing its little tap dance routine again, and it was enough to make her feel faint.

  “What did I ever do to deserve such disrespectful headstrong children?” Malinda’s voice drifted up the stairs as she whined to her henchman, who of course laughed in reply. With the freedom and safety of her room plainly in sight, and her heart beating out a staccatorhythm Fred Astaire would be jealous of, Amiel released the rebellion her throat was begging for.

  “Probably the same thing we did to deserve a horrid mother like you!” she called loudly down the stairs before slamming and locking the door behind her. She sat with her ear pressed to the door, waiting for the thunderous steps of the henchman coming to bust down her door and sit on her. Sighing with shaky relief when silence met her ears, Amiel slid down the length of the door. Jaron had always teased her that she was as timid as a mouse when it came to authority. It was true. Despite Malinda’s insistence that she was a stubborn and spoiled brat, Amiel had been nothing but the ideal child all her life. Seen and not heard. Under normal circumstances Amiel was eager to simply remain silent and receive any verbal berating or consequence thrown at her, whether it was deserved it or not. If someone so much as carried an air of authority, she would cower back, especially if that person was Malinda Hilden.

  Today, however, seemed to be the mark of a very different future for Amiel. Her anger simmered directly on the surface now, springing upward like a grease fire at the slightest provocation. Her defiance was making a triumphant appearance it would seem, swiftly rising with a hidden temper that was beginning to frighten her with its existence. She hated that it had taken the death of her dearest friend for it to happen. It wasn’t worth it. She curled up, clutching Jaron’s tags to her chest as she cried herself to sleep right there on the floor.

  Chapter 2

  Amiel

  The next day dawned with a determination to do something crazy. Amiel wasn’t entirely sure what that crazy thing was yet, but she could practically taste the need for it- that and the overwhelming urge to hit something. It was an unfamiliar and uncomfortable feeling, this sudden need for violence. She showered, styled her hair, and put on a light coating of makeup. Surprisingly she didn’t have to cover any bruises on her cheek. Only a light shade of redness remained, which could easily be mistaken for a blush once her other cheek was made to match. Amiel moved through the actions, dressing in a sleek black dress with the mechanical movements of a person still deeply nestled in shock. At the funeral pyre Malinda played the part of the properly distressed mother, crying into a dainty lace hanky though careful to not smudge her makeup. She gave equally dainty sobs during appropriate places in the preacher’s speech. Amiel sat numbly in her chair, staring at the gleaming wood box surrounded by fancy expensive flowers.

  Somehow her brain was having a difficult time grasping the idea that her brother lay within it. This had not been an open casket funeral. The poison leaking from Jaron’s pores had seen to that. Perhaps if the casket had been open the loss of her brother would feel less surreal than it did at the moment. She was unsure if she should be grateful for that closed lid or not. Malinda gave a particularly agonized whine at her side, and it was all Amiel could do to keep from rolling her eyes. The cameras drank up every ounce of it. Malinda’s whine became a more realistic squeak when the soldiers of Jaron’s company fired salutes in his honor, startling her from her act. Amiel drank in the sounds of the trumpets as they played their own farewell to her brother, trying to imbed them in her memory. When the last note faded, they carefully folded the flag that lay across Jaron’s casket. A soldier approached, holding the flag reverently in his outstretched palms.

  “This flag is presented on behalf of a grateful nation and the United States Army as a token of appreciation for your loved one’s honorable and faithful service.” The man’s voice rang out with clear authority, demanding the attention and respect of those present. Amiel’s heart ached as they placed the flag in her mother’s lap, who merely glanced at it before continuing her performance. How she wished she could have been the one to receive the honor that her mother so easily
sniffed at.

  A female soldier lit a torch, carrying it to the soldier that had presented the flag. The man turned with a click of his heels to offer the torch to Malinda. But when he held it out for her, she merely sniffed and waved it away. Amiel could see the slight stiffening of the soldier’s posture and flash of indignant frustration as it welled in his eyes. Obviously this man had held her brother in the highest regard and Malinda’s slight was a slap in the face to that honor. Amiel stood woodenly, her shaking hand reaching for the torch. The soldier’s eyes shifted to meet hers, searching. She could dimly feel the pain in her own eyes reflected in his, a grieving kinship of sorts founded between them in that moment. The soldier nodded gravely, placing the polished wooden handle in her hand.

  Her hand dipped slightly under the weight of the heavy wooden torch, symbolic of the heavy weight of grief that her shoulders currently bore. Her father’s funeral had been much the same, with Malinda refusing the torch then as well. Only that day, it had been fourteen year old Jaron who had carried the torch. Today it was Amiel who carried the torch for Jaron.

  Swallowing hard against the tears that were once again demanding escape, she watched as other soldiers reverently carried Jaron’s casket up a pair of removable metal steps to place it on the tall wooden pyre. When the steps were pulled away all eyes turned to Amiel, waiting. Her legs wobbled beneath her on the first step forward, forcing her to pause. She took a deep breath, praying her limbs would hold strong. She managed to pull it together, striding purposefully toward the pyre. She stared up at it for a long moment, vaguely aware of the people standing behind her and the clicking of cameras. How many of them were here to honor her brother and how many of them were just here to watch the show, gathering fuel for the gossip they would spread later?