Chapter 6

Molly sat down in Kita’s room, drummed her fingers on the armrest, stood again to pace the room, and then sat down, again. Blood oozed from her inside cheek. Her eyes swept the room. Mom was occupied. Kita was sleeping. Both looked quite peaceful. With all the sedation and anti-depressants, Kita’d be asleep for quite some time. Molly glanced at the clock in her peripheral. She glanced at her mom resting on the couch, shoved unruly hair behind her ear, and reached for her iComm link as she walked out to the hall.

“Call. Sal.”

His ringtone—Beethoven’s Fifth—resonated in her hearing. “This is Officer Joseph Salazar. I’m not available at this time, but you know the drill ... BEEP.”

“Sal!” Molly almost hissed from forcing herself to whisper. “This is Mol. Listen, call me back—I need—I—just call me back.” Molly disconnected. It was very seldom she could not reach her enforcer partner. A nurse scurried past and entered her sister’s room. Molly sighed. The restraints were coming off, that, in itself, had to help Kita on many levels. Anticipating Sal would call back, she observed the movement in Kita’s room from the hall.

Marti and Steve Tyris, missionary coordinators at Dad’s church, approached, gently hugging her before going into Kita’s room and doing the same with her mom.

She was right, her iComm link tinkled an ascending tune. “Sal!”

“What’s up, Mol? How’s Kita?”

Turning her back on the room, she lowered her voice. “Yeah, she’s okay, I guess. Listen, I need your help, I-I need ta—I need relief.”

A long sigh, he wasn’t pleased. “Sure, when?”

“Now! Where can I meet ya?”

“Come to the garage.”

“Okay, twenty minutes?”

“That’s fine.” Sal didn’t push for an explanation. She was grateful for that.

Molly stepped back into Kita’s room. Her sister was free of restraints and sleeping soundly. Her mother knelt in prayer at the little couch with Marti and Steve. Molly allowed herself an expressive eye-roll since her mom couldn’t see the rebellious action. “Mom, I’ve gotta ... go do something. I’ll be back later.”

Her mother glared over her shoulder with drawn eyebrows, twisted around to sit on the couch, and exhaled an expressive sigh. She shrugged quasi-approval and settled back on the couch with a distant gaze in her eyes. Marti sat beside her and Steve stood near his wife. They continued to talk in quiet tones.

Molly walked faster than she intended. Sal had what she needed. Maybe he’d help her investigate this Dr. Austin Abraham when they were done. There had to be more to his connection with this mysterious father than he was revealing. Polaris had lied. She knew it with every fiber of her being. But why? To think, they called themselves healers. Who were they protecting?

An image of the younger doctor approaching her in the entrance waiting area, before she knew who he was, filled her mind. Her initial reaction to his extremely good looks only fueled her anger. Question was, who was she angry at, herself or him?

He was probably very accustomed to women succumbing to anything he said like hormone-saturated school girls. Well, Molly was not, nor ever would be, such a disgusting thing. She hurried even faster to the Transit.

Molly hopped off the mass transit vessel and nearly jogged past three additional houses before arriving at Sal’s apartment garage. She avoided the main house and slipped quietly past the parking platform to Sal’s garage apartment. Sal yanked the door open before she could knock.

She sucked in a quick breath, “Sal.”

“Come on in,” he said more as an exhale than an invitation, as he stepped aside. Before closing the door, he scanned the path to the street and then turned a disappointed glare toward her.

“Look, I’m sorry!” she blurted. “You don’t know what I’ve been through.”

She suppressed a grin. He enjoyed this as much as she did, but he had to act like it tacked him off.

“Just come on.” He walked to the back of the garage, unlocked a two-door cabinet, pulled out two identical sets of foam forms, one blue and one red, and handed her the red set.

Molly was already jogging in place and winding her arms around like a double windmill. She nodded her appreciation and pulled the forms onto her hands and head. Sal did the same and turned to face her. Molly reached out and smashed her padded fist into his left cheek.

“Ow! Molly! I wasn’t ready!” He handed her an opaque case.

She responded by opening her mouth.

He placed the mouthguard between her teeth, and she clamped down, just missing his bare fingers. He jerked back and glared at her once more.

“Well, get ready,” she mumbled past the guard.

Placing her left hand over her right padded fist, she bowed deeply from her waist. Her eyes never left her opponent. Sal did the same and stepped back into a proper stance.

Molly stepped back as a mirror image of him and stared over her padded fists. She flung at him with a melee of venomous strikes. Her right and left jabs pushed him backward. He recovered his balance and threw a left hook. She recoiled and staggered backward. He lunged forward with a set of empty jabs but was met with a spinning roundhouse to his right hip.

“Umpf!” escaped his lips. He walked it off. He’d taken that hit better than she expected. She was beating up the wrong person, but then again, she couldn’t beat up the healers. A grin separated her lips and exposed the slobbery mouthpiece as she stepped back to regain her balance. An image of the pretty healer’s face replaced her partner’s and her grin widened. She locked into the ready stance.

Sal reset his own position to reflect hers. His jaw muscles bulged. Molly knew that look. He was suppressing anger.

“What?” She egged him on.

“Okay.” He nodded and lifted his right knee. His foot shot out for a horizontal extension kick to her left thigh, but he used the momentum to deliver a left hook kick to her right thigh. She bounced back on her left foot to absorb the dead-leg sensation. He lunged forward and flared a jab. She grabbed his shirt and rolled her weight back which propelled him over her body, crashing into two refuse receptacles and sending the content down over his face. He jumped to his feet, shoving garbage off his forehead.

Molly raised an eyebrow. In partner lingo, it meant, “Want more?”

Steamy body heat blanketed the windows like a sheet of wet plastic wrap. The smell of sweat and guttural noises filled the garage. His insatiable pride held a stoic mask firmly in place with each of her ferocious strikes, but she knew her partner well enough to recognize his suffering.

Molly completed a roll and spun to stand over him. Black filled her brown eyes as her pupils dilated with excited fighter’s lust. A wicked smile tugged at the corners of her mouth and a strand of saliva dripped from her mouthguard.

Sal rushed forward leaning his shoulder into her gut, wrapped his left arm around her right thigh, and pulled her leg up. Molly’s balance went with the pull, and her bottom slammed into the floor. “Umpf!” The breath escaped her lungs. Sal pressed his forearm across her collar bone holding her against the floor. “Had enough?”

“Not a chance.” Molly hooked her left foot over his right ankle and twisted him over. She threw a left hook to his face and jumped up, bouncing in place while he recovered his own dignity and stance. The smile never left her face. He hated that smile, it was as much of a weapon as the physical impacts from her fist and feet. Never losing eye contact, she turned her shoulders to deliver a reverse hook kick but met empty air. Sal had backed away. Was he giving up? Molly moved forward, but he put up his hands.

“I give,” he panted. “You win. I’ll tell you ... anything ... you wanna know. Just don’t kill me.”

Heaving for air, she lowered her hands to her sides. A deep cleansing breath helped slow her breathing to a more normal rate.

“Geez, Mol, what crawled up your—?”

“Sorry.” Molly jogged from side to side and hit her foam-covered fists together. The exertion felt good as hot fatigue replaced stone-cold frustration. “Really? You had enough?”

She knew he had, it was easy to sense that without reaching out to connect.

Sal nodded, laboriously drawing breath, and favoring his left rib cage. She had nearly beaten the crud out of him, but she knew he’d never admit it. She took off her foam helmet and slipped out of the hand protectors. She felt better, but he looked terrible. The grin never left her face.

At that moment, the door swung open, and Molly spun around, startled. A man walked in. A disapproving look etched his face. Sal yanked off his gear and yanked Molly’s gear out of her limp grasp. He put them away and locked the cabinet. The man stood still as Sal ignored him.

“So—” the man said, not looking at Molly, “LEPers can perform illegal physical contact, but us everyday, ordinary citizens cannot?”

Molly cringed. The referral never set right with her. The name Legal Enforcer Personnel, shortened to LEP, quickly became LEPers to the civilians. It always conjured images of white, flaky-skinned, diseased people from the Bible. But the nickname was what it was and was widely used by the civilians.

“That’s about it.” Sal shrugged.

Molly stood statue still, watching their exchange. It seemed friendly enough. She tossed a glance at Sal. Apparently, the man wasn’t as threatening as he tried to appear.

Sal stepped up next to Molly and lifted his left palm toward the intruder. “Molly, this is my step-brother and roommate, Dwayne Friedman. Dwayne, this is my partner, Molly Jacobsen.”

“Pleasure.” Dwayne nodded and walked toward the stairs leading to the apartment above the garage.

Molly nodded in response. With the exhaustion and dissipating concern, words would not form on her lips.