Opia

Chapter 31

Once James had made a break from cover, drawing away Artis' attention, Dean let his mind focus solely on getting to Palko.

When Palko realized from the stairs that Dean was coming for him and that Artis was distracted, he pulled a handgun from the waistband of his jeans and started firing. Trying not to dwell on how dangerous the runaway bullets could be to Artis or James, Dean weaved side to side and jumped from cover to cover.

When the gun was silent, Dean left the piece of destroyed machinery he was hiding behind and faced off with the man he had really come to despise in the last couple of hours. Since Palko was no longer firing, even with Dean out in the open, it seemed logical that there were no more bullets left. That didn't stop Dean from taking note of the fact that the gun's barrel was not popped back as it would be if the last shot had been fired.

Fear briefly touched Palko's eyes before the placid mask returned.

"You can't kill me," he said. "I already told you why." He lifted the tablet that he had been holding at his side.

"Don't," Dean warned. He was about to tell Palko to call of his controlled probers when he realized he would never know whether Palko was actually complying, or pretending to while setting them off right that moment. His only option was to get the controller out of Palko's hands and warn his hunters. "Give me that controller and the gun, and you don't have to die," he said, holding out a hand.

Palko's eyes flicked between the controller in one hand and the gun in the other, then he looked back up at Dean.

"Never." With quick motion, he brought the gun up, but Dean had been anticipating it. Not letting himself agonize over the decision, Dean released the full strength of his lasers through the left side of the man's chest. For a brief second, Palko's body stiffened and the gun went off, but the bullet didn't travel Dean's direction. Then the man fell forward and bounced down the steps, landing face up, his wide, surprised eyes glassed over in death.

#

Trying not to be distracted by the shots ringing out from the other side of the lab, and praying one didn't hit Artis, James slowly leaned out from his hiding place. Artis was moving toward the gun he had dropped. She picked it up off of the floor, then let it dangle from her hand at her side as she took slow deliberate steps toward him.

"Artis, stop," James commanded.

She kept moving.

"Artis!" He said her name again, more pleading than before. To his surprise, she actually did. "Artis, this isn't you. I know you know that. There's got to be a part of you that's still in control."

When she remained still, he moved his body out a little further from behind the machine.

"Remember what happened to Carrie? She was controlled, too, and almost killed you. Don't be like that."

He slowly stood up.

Artis' head tilted to the side as she studied him. Her eyes remained blank.

"Artis?"

He wanted her to respond. Instead she raised the gun so that it was pointed at his chest.

"No." He shook his head. "No, Artis. You don't like shooting people. You only do it when you have to. I thought we were friends now."

James knew she was getting ready to fire. He could feel her intention right before she pulled the trigger, and it was the only reason he was able to avoid a fatal shot. The bullet tore through his left shoulder, sending fire through his chest and arm.

He groaned in pain as he grabbed at the wound and tried to keep himself from falling. The pain was causing shots of white light to flood his vision. Warm blood soon covered his hand as he took a deep breath to steady himself. He looked over at Artis, expecting her to fire again, but she had frozen, a scowl on her face as she eyed the blood.

#

Things were hazy. Why were they so hazy? Why was her mind filled with such violence, driving her to destroy two people? Not just two people. The two people. Something was horribly wrong.

As she sound of the shot from the gun in her hands reverberated, Artis felt like a switch flipped in her head. There was blood. She had hit someone and there was blood. The man she had shot looked up at her, pain etched across his face. It was a familiar face. A loved face. One of safety and something else. Home?

James? Was that his name? She looked closer at the face and then the blood.

James. She had shot James.

Horror filled her as she took in the damage. Why had she shot him?

You're being controlled. Don't you remember?

Of course. Palko was controlling her.

Despite the realization she had shot James, the haze was starting to slide over her again. Soon she wouldn't recognize James and she'd shoot him again. She'd probably kill him.

Desperation pulsed through her. What could she do? Could he reach her before the haze solidified over her mind again? How could he when he was hurt?

She looked down at the gun in her hand, then back at James.

Without hesitation, she pushed the barrel of the gun behind her ear. Right as she pulled the trigger, she heard him shout at her.

The pain was instant and intense, yet also a relief. As she felt darkness overtake her, she couldn't help smiling. If anyone could fix her, save her, it would be James. And if he couldn't do it, that was ok, too. She was ok with leaving the darkness of the Earth behind.

I'm ready to come into the light. Take me into the light.

She knew God could hear her thoughts to Him. Though she had refused to see it before, He had made himself abundantly clear to her leading up to that moment, and she was ready to see that and acknowledge it.

Yes, she decided, even as she felt James slide in next to her. Things were going to be just fine.