Page 6 of Snow Blind (The Technicians #14)

B ryan sat in the chair , feeling colder than he ever had in the entirety of his 42 years on the planet. Regret filled his belly as he thought of the women who had wanted to start a family and bring him onto the path of fatherhood. He didn't want kids. The world wasn't the place to bring children into for other sick minded people to sit around planning how to rob them of their innocence. He saw no reason to do it, and he also saw no reason to spend the rest of his life slaving away to save money for their education, only to have them go off into the world and return home as a single young parent.

He'd seen it in his youth. Young girls, wide-eyed, eager to enter the world to become engaged citizens, only to arrive at a cage match in a college town where they were the prey. Grown men, who had time to perfect methods to stalk, prime, and groom young women for assault, simply because they could, are what he saw at colleges and universities. It didn't matter how many times he stood in front of the classroom, issuing the warning to young freshman women, the words went in one ear and out the other.

No, he saw no need to marry and have children. He didn't want daughters who refused to listen to warnings about going to men's apartments and dorm rooms and accepting drinks from people they don't know. The time-honored warnings to young men also went unheeded, cautioning the chaps that if it feels suspect and she is not looking you in the eye saying yes, then stop what you're doing. If you stop and it goes no further, then you have made a wise choice.

"You don't want to ruin your entire life for three and a half minutes," Bryan would caution the young men.

Again, in one ear and out the other. The sad reality of adding insult to a perilous injury almost appeared ironic as he sat in a cabin, he didn't know where, in a pair of underwear he'd had on for entirely too many days, wrapped in a pink quilt. The quilt was ugly and misshapen, and the threads were coming out of the fabric squares. The fabric reminded him of the quilt his little cousin attempted to make for a home economics class that went ass up. This one was worse, and it smelled like mothballs.

He looked up to find the woman looking at him. The dog was watching him as well. It was a big fucking dog.

Bryan asked, "What's her name?"

"Who? Cranberry?"

Bryan pointed at the dog, "The dog, not the other scary woman."

"Candy the Cane Corso," Passion Fruit said. "What's your name?"

"Bryan, like I said," he commented.

"It would help at some point to be honest with me," she told him.

"Okay, I have to pee," he said, looking at her. "The bathroom seems a long distance from this chair. As much as the broth was warmly wonderful, it hit an empty stomach and is going right through me. I may not be strong enough to get down the hall, and you aren't strong enough to keep me from falling and busting my ass," he spoke.

"Necessity is the mother of invention," she said, walking over and passing him a plastic urinal for men.

"Great," he said, struggling to lower the casted foot to the floor. "Between the pain and the constant humiliation, I'm thinking maybe death would have been easier."

"Death is never easy, Bryan. We think it is because the time on earth comes to an end, but we don't know what comes after," she told him.

Passion Fruit looped a sheet around his waist. The walker was moved in front of him, as she used her feet as leverage against the chair which was braced against the wall. She pulled hard, getting him to his feet. The pink quilt that she'd attempted to make one cold, lonely winter, she draped over his shoulders to provide him privacy as he relieved himself into the urinal. Her back remained to him as he did his business. She heard the top of the container snap close and a grunt from the man.

"Any way to wash my hands?" he asked, placing his hands on the sides of the chair and lowering himself down.

Passion Fruit collected the urine, examining the contents for color and clarity. She passed him a package of wet naps as she walked away to pour out the waste. When she returned, his head was lowered.

"What is troubling you?"

"I'm hungry," he said softly. "I want some food, but I refuse to suffer the degradation of you sitting me on a shitter and examining my stool. Lady, what are we doing here?"

"Sir, you have internal injuries and a bullet hole in your shoulder from where someone attempted to unalive you," she told him. "The skin of your face was detached from your skull, which I had to staple in place, and I'm praying you suffer no infections. To add to all of that, you are sitting in my face, fucking lying to me about who you are and who wants you dead. I took a chance by saving your life. The least of your worries is taking a shit in front of me."

"Will you at least give me some food so I can have the strength to try to get to the toilet?"

"Is that seriously your primary concern at this point, Bryan?"

"I have nothing else to go on," he said, softly.

"Bryan, is there someone at home waiting for your return?"

He hung his head low and said, "Unfortunately no. I only have my aunt. I lived in the apartment over her garage and look after her. Aunt Ella, her kids are shit stains who left her to rot in her dementia. I moved in to help, but a month ago, I had to place her in memory care."

"I'm sorry to hear that," she said. "Your job? The place where you work?"

"Sabbatical, to write my book," he said. "I was starting it next week. Rented a place in Colorado, out of the way to commune with nature kind of thing."

"So, in other words, no one will miss you," Passion Fruit said, regretting the words.

His head was hung low as the reality of his life hit hard. He began to cry not only for his circumstance, but for the life he believed gave him so much freedom that had become a private prison. At a low point in his life, there was no one to call. No one would miss him. No one was searching for him, and these women could do as they pleased and it would be the end of his existence.

No one would know.

Tears streamed from his eyes at the realization as the sound of the back door opening, ushering in cold air from outside. The temperature had dropped considerably in the last hour, and he felt it in the ache in his bones. The woman Cranberry had returned. Her arms were loaded with bags, and she stopped in front of him and Passion Fruit. She scowled fiercely at her new mentor.

"Aw man, are you picking on Bryan? You made him cry," Helen said, dropping the bags.

"No, it's okay," he said softly. "Reality hit me, and the idea that no one is looking for me and no one will miss me really hurts. I am also at your mercy, so if there are awful things you wanted to do to me, imprison me, I can't fight you. I am relying on your grace and depending on your kindness, if there is any in you."

"Passion Fruit, will you feed this man?" Helen said. "Bryan, I got you clothes, shoes, slippers, a few books, and some puzzles to help with your mental dexterity while you heal."

Passion Fruit spoke up, "He's supposed to be working on his book. I don't know what kind, but I have an extra laptop around here and a few notebooks, if that will help."

The glistening of tears in his eyes were of relief. "You'd do that for me?"

"Yes, even though you are being less than honest with us, I will," Passion Fruit said. "You will need to tell us what is after you."

"I wish I knew myself," he said, looking at the items Helen presented to him. He found himself sniffling as he looked at the books. "I like Cussler. This is thoughtful. Puzzles. Nice. Thank you...Cranberry."

"You're welcome," she said, looking at them both. "Hey, we all need to be honest with each other. I'll go first. I picked up a bogey in town."

"A what?" Bryan said.

"A creeper following me. I picked him up in the bookstore, and he followed me to Target," Helen said. "I'm not sure if he was looking for me, you, or Bryan."

Passion Fruit went into high alert, "Where is this creeper now, Cranberry?"

"I left him knocked the hell out in a back alley in town," she said. "Boss said to lie low for a minute, but I will need to roll out for Thanksgiving. She will be calling later to issue the order for my neck thingy."

"I'm implanting you today?"

"Yeah, hey, you may need to put one in Bryan too, just in case," Helen said. "He's valuable enough for someone to want him gone. Until we know who and why, it may be in our best interest to keep him safe."

"You'd protect me...but why?" Bryan said, holding the thousand-piece puzzle to his chest as if he'd just gotten the latest PlayStation. "I can't walk. I can't contribute anything, and I am in so much flacking pain, I am about to cry. Again."

Helen knew how it felt to feel hopeless. "I was in a situation not too long ago but I never gave up that someone was coming to rescue me. Help arrived and I paid it forward. Surviving this is your sign from the universe that what you've been doing ain't working and you need to change."

"I'm not a bad a person," he said. "I saw things and put pieces together that at the time made no sense. When it began to become clear, I was looking for help to tell what I knew. Then I was shot."

Passion Fruit leaned forward, "What do you know, Bryan?"

"I'm still not sure, so for now, can we get me well?" he asked. "Get me on my feet so if that bogey comes looking, I can help mount a defense with you."

Passion Fruit asked, "You'd fight beside us?"

"I'd fight for us because Cranberry is right. It's time for me to make some changes," he said. "I have some money, not a lot, but I can contribute."

"Touching your accounts would be a sign you're alive," Passion Fruit said.

"Hey, I stole the credit cards of the bogey following me," Helen added to both Bryan and Passion Fruit’s’ shocked faces. "Well, I wanted it to look like a mugging, so I mugged him."

"You are scary," Bryan said. "You actually robbed the man, I mean, won't he know it's you?"

"No, I hit him in the temple from behind and dropped him like the sack of shit he is," Helen said, nodding her head with pride.

"Dear Lord, you're a terrifying little thing," Bryan said, touching the caked blood in his hair. "You look like a housewife on her way to get the kids from soccer practice and you've confessed that you robbed a man in an alley. Am I dead and no one told me?"

Passion Fruit's phone rang in the other room. She held up her hand and placed her finger to her lips. She made a beeline for the Technician phone. She answered the phone using the Spanish word for passion fruit.

" Maracuya ," she said into the line.

"Requesting an implant for the Cranberry," Azreal stated. "Activation code CB2317. Synchronize to Channel 3, Line 8, Code Blue."

Passion Fruit replied, "I authenticate, Code Green, Line 6, Channel 2."

"Make it happen today," Azreal said. "There is a bogey."

"So I've been told," Passion Fruit replied.

"You stay vigilant; people are interested in her."

"As am I. Maracuya out," she said, ending the call. She held onto the phone, thinking of what Helen said to her about implanting Bryan. For a moment, a wayward thought crossed her mind. This year, she wouldn't be spending Thanksgiving alone.

Then it happened.

Passion Fruit smiled.

She was still smiling when she walked into the room to face Cranberry and Bryan. The smile wasn't something her face was accustomed to doing, which based on the reaction from the people in the house reiterated the fact.

"Oh God, she's gotten orders to kill me," Bryan said, trying not to show fear, but he was nearly chuckling when he said it. "She's smiling. I'm going to die!"

Helen picked up on his sense of humor. "Or worse, she's decided to keep you and make you her love slave."

"Dear Jesus, not that," Bryan said, coughing and holding his side. "I'm not sure it even works. I mean, the pain would keep me from focusing to make him stand up and want to play. Oh, God, it hurts to laugh."

"Well, she did hold it in her hand, staring at it when she put in that catheter," Helen remarked. “I think she liked it, or it has been a long time since she’s seen one.”

Bryan held his side as he looked at Passion Fruit, and burst into laughter. He looked down at his crotch, squeezing his eyes as if he were giving his penis a silent command to wake up. He looked at her and shook his head no.

“He said his feelings are hurt and he doesn’t want to play,” Bryan said laughing again.

"Funny, both of you can kiss my ass," Passion Fruit commented, not appreciating the humor at her expense. "Cranberry, let's get this done."

She left the room and returned with what looked like a ray gun of death. Helen began to back away. Passion Fruit moved quickly, performing what Helen later deemed a Vulcan neck pinch, immobilizing her as she injected a small tracking device at the base of her neck and top of her spine. Passion Fruit sent a text with her phone, Helen heard a beep, Bryan shouted that her neck was glowing, and then the light went out.

"What in the actual hell, Passion Fruit!" Helen said, rubbing her neck. "I think I peed a little. That hurts!"

"That's nothing; when it heals, I have to brand you," she said, smiling in a way that made Helen shudder. Her focus then turned to Bryan.

Bryan was shaking his head no, trying to get on his feet, the casted foot swinging back and forth across the floor as he tried to get away. "Nope. I don't want any of that. Nope. None for me."

"I can't use the same ones on you," she said, reaching into her pocket to remove a needle long enough to inseminate a horse. "This one is my personal trackers that I use on the animals I rescue. Come here, love slave."

"Not funny," he said, trying to stand but failing. "I'm not a stray puppy for you to put in a tracker. I don't want it."

Passion Fruit moved quickly, inserting the needle between his shoulder blades, under the subcutaneous tissue, pressing in. His eyes watered and he slumped over. Bryan watched Candy the Cane Corso, understanding how she felt.

He lay across the arm of the chair, his butt in the air, the cast dangling from his foot. The position he lay in exposed his genitals, and he was in too much pain to tuck away his junk. Helen threw the blanket across his lower half.

He whimpered, touching the gauze wrapped around his face, "I feel extra violated. You just keep adding insult to injury. Does this mean I now belong to you?"

His eyes met hers.

Passion Fruit didn't blink. "If you'd like," she said softly. "There are worse ways to spend your evenings."