Heaven with a Barbed Wire Fence Chapter One
Title: Heaven with a Barbed Wire Fence
Author: Alex Foster
Category: General
Word Count: 50,000+
Rating: PG-13
Summary: A trip home for the holidays turns into a race to protect a young special from The Church of the Nephilim. Claire/Gretchen/Elle triad relationship.
Contains: Polyamory, established relationships, original characters, cursing, misogynist language, threats of violence to a child, sexual situations, descriptions of violence.
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by NBC. No money is being made and no infringement is intended.
Author’s Notes: This is my Nanowrimo entry from this year. It is a sequel to Kindling St. Elmo’s Fire but it is not necessary to have read that to follow this. I had a blast writing it and wholeheartedly recommend everyone try Nanowrimo at least once. Thank you very much for reading.
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For the skeptic there remains only one consolation: if there should be such a thing as superhuman law, it is administered with subhuman efficiency.
Eric Ambler
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Chapter One
"You see how simple it is, right? ‘Blessed are those who are persecuted for righteousness.’ How amazingly, purely, simple?" Light touched the woman’s shoulders and she squirmed trying to get away. She had seen what his hands could do. The bindings were strong however and they only bit deeper into her wrists; blood dripped down the chair arms and pooled on the floor. No matter that-his partner would dry it up when he purified the scene.
"Now I don’t expect to convert you," he continued as pleasantly as though they were having afternoon tea. "Lord knows that there is no shortage of religions out there looking for your time and money. I don’t want a donation and I’ll happily leave once you give me what I want."
Light dropped down to his haunches and squared his gaze directly at her. "Where is Stephen?"
She shook her head and bit into the gag stuffed in her mouth.
Light hung his head and sighed. She was just like the other one he questioned, her husband. "Why are you doing this?" he asked. "There is no Company any longer to protect. The secret is out. And I know you and your dearly departed husband fostered Stephen. Just tell me where he is."
She mumbled something.
"Now, now," he said, "if I take the gag out will you just scream again? Because my ears are still ringing and I don’t think you want my friend over there to step in again."
Her eyes went wide and glanced at Salt standing calmly in the corner.
Light lowered the gag-Salt was quite good at what he did and normally the initial demonstration was all that was needed for their subjects to come to heel. "You were saying?"
"W-water please?"
"No. Stephen first."
She collapsed against her bounds. "I don’t know any Stephen. We never fostered anyone. Please."
Light lunged forward and backhanded her across the face, hard enough to knock her chair over. He came to his full height as his ability jumped free and raked over her body. His control wasn’t as good this time and she screamed in agony. Not bothering to retie the gag he increased the power until her limbs jerked against the bounds in an attempt to curl inward.
Long after she was dead her muscles continued to spasm. Light stood over her, breathing heavy. Normally he enjoyed his ability, the rush of it tingling over his skin, but even that couldn’t help ease his frustration. "Did you believe her?"
Salt tipped his bald head, pale eyebrows quirked. "Obviously you did."
"And yet that isn’t what I asked, is it?" Light wiped the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand and then smiled. "Ah, my friend, you do vex me so."
If Salt ever looked amused Light could never tell. "Luckily not as much as she did."
It was close enough to a joke that Light’s smile transformed into a laugh. "Yes, well, it happens. Do your thing, would you?"
Light retreated to the kitchen to avoid Salt’s ability. The taller man’s control was good, amazingly so at times, but no sense in taking undue chances. Plus, he was peckish.
The house was a nice upper middle class post housing boom home. Not overly extravagant or unaffordable for the, now deceased, residents. The perfect cover he figured for two Company agents. Light opened the refrigerator and began poking about. Guess the old adage about buying green bananas was true. He sniffed the milk and then put the carton back.
Helping himself to a few slices of lunchmeat, he hummed a tune and glanced around the kitchen. Knickknacks aside, it was a nice cover. In another life Light might have wished for the same. But he had a new purpose now, one of a more divine origin. And if a few had to fall in pursuit of his order, well that was just part of the grand design.
Wandering around he discovered a small desk built into a nook, bills and a checkbook spread out over the top. Standing in the center was a little American Gothic figurine and in place of the pitchfork was a pen.
"Oh, now that is cute," he said. It was a shame he killed the couple before finding that-he could have asked where they bought it.
Reaching into his pocket, Light pulled out a list and unfolded it on the desktop. There were two dozen names written on the legal sized paper, several already crossed out. He traced each one and said a prayer for them.
Stopping at the names of the couple he just killed, Light took the pen from American Gothic and crossed them out as well. Sooner or later he would find out what he wanted to know. And his partners in the church would have Stephen.
Somewhere out there was a child of the Company and he had no clue how important he was. Not just to the church but to the entire world.
"For we are the salt and the light," Light repeated. "The meek are servants to us as the ox to the plow. And we shall tend our fields and cultivate our crop. For now and forever."
He peered into the main room and saw his partner finishing up with the bodies. Carefully he folded the list back up and put it and the pen back in his pocket.
"Glory to you Lord-"
~
"God." Gretchen Berg pressed her forehead to the bathroom tile and did her best to relax into the warm shower. She closed her eyes as water ran down her face. Two painful knots, one in her back and the other at the base of her skull slowly eased. Long brown hair followed the flow and formed a curtain around her face.
It was stress, no dread she corrected, that was taking its toll on her. Both body and mind. Finals and the build up to the holidays were nothing compared to what she was about to experience.
Returning home to her parents.
Or, more specifically, returning home to her very traditional family with two specials in tow. If not for Claire she would have been happy to just spend Hanukkah and Christmas with Mr. Bennet, like last year. But her girlfriend wanted the wonderful meet the parents adventure. And if not for Elle she would have thought up some reason to cancel and stay in Virginia, like the year before last.
She even found a book on Jewish tradition in Elle’s room-subtitled ‘how not to embarrass yourself’. Which was a sweet but unnecessary touch.
Gretchen sighed to the showerhead. She predicted an awkward first meeting, tense dinner, followed by a comment from her father about people with abilities that would lead to an argument. Either she, Claire, or Elle would storm out followed by a show of solidarity by the other two. And finally non kosher Chinese takeout at the hotel.
They would probably get to spend Christmas with Mr. Bennet after all if that happened early enough in the trip.
When there were again a thousand miles between them and her parents maybe the kinks in her back and headaches would go away. Really though she’d put up with the pain if the nightmares would stop. She hadn’t had a good night’s sleep since Thanksgiving.
A sharp ringing sliced through her reverie and tightened the knots right back up. On the third ring, she pushed away from the wall and leaned her head past the shower curtain. "Could someone get that please?"
Only a fourth ring answered so Gretchen stepped out and reached for a towel. Awkwardly wrapping it around herself she hurried from the bathroom to the master bedroom, leaving a wet trail behind her as she did so.
With one hand on the front of her towel, she grabbed the ringing phone from the charging pad on the nightstand. It was Claire’s bedazzled phone but she answered it anyway. "Hello?"
There was a surprised pause at the other end and then, "Hello, Ms. Berg."
Micah Sanders, the technopath that helped Elle with her former Company abductee social work. Gretchen hadn’t had much interaction with him, having met him in person only once after Elle saved them from a villain over a year ago.
Micah had let them stay at his New Jersey home-a place Elle described as a safehouse for specials everywhere-while they recovered from the ordeal. He seemed nice but she also knew he often involved Elle, and once Claire, in various clandestine operations to protect specials.
Gretchen glanced at Claire’s phone and then to Elle’s sitting on the charging pad. "Um, hello. Are you looking for Elle?"
"No, actually. I was hoping to speak with Claire. Is she home?"
"Yeah. Hold on." Gretchen hit the mute button and then looked down at herself. Covering herself the best she could, she walked from the calm and comfort of their bedroom to the hectic weekday morning in the Berg, Bennet, and Bishop household.
News played on the tv, turned loud enough for everyone in the apartment to hear it no matter which room they were in. The smell of breakfast and sounds of Claire moving around came from the kitchen. Gretchen started for her. Their apartment was small and off campus. The living room took up most of the space with the kitchen off to one side and the two bedrooms across from each other.
They shared a room most nights, but Gretchen had insisted Elle have a room to herself if she wanted it. She didn’t know all the details of the years Elle spent growing up in the Company but figured she hadn’t had much to call her own in that time.
In the year plus they’d been together Elle had stabilized quite a bit from when Gretchen first met her. She came and went on her missions to contact people the Company preformed tests on, and occasionally on trips for Micah, but she always had a home to return to.
She found Claire standing by the stove, flipping pancakes. Stepping into the kitchen in nothing but a small towel earned Gretchen a double take which she took a little bit of pride in. She held out the phone. "Micah for you."
"Me?" Claire set the flipper aside. "Not Elle?"
Gretchen shook her head.
"Okay, thanks." Claire took the phone and thumbed the talk button. "Hello?"
Shivering in the cool air of a drafty apartment in December, Gretchen turned and hurried back to her shower. Or at least she tried to. When Gretchen was halfway across the room, Elle stuck her head out from her bedroom. "Who was that?"
"Micah."
"He didn’t say anything about that special I wanted him to contact, did he?" Elle started to follow her, craning her neck to glance where the towel dipped low in the back.
Taking pride in that too, Gretchen said, "He just asked for Claire. Sorry."
"Oh." Elle looked disappointed. "I guess it was a long shot."
The shower was still running, mocking her with how warm and relaxing it had been without her to enjoy it. Gretchen dropped the towel and rushed back in. Goaning when the water made contact with her tense back.
Elle was still standing in the doorway, watching.
"Or, more rationally, we could just cancel," Gretchen pointed out.
"There is nothing irrational about wanting to hire a teleporter to take me to Texas. It is statistically safer than flying or driving."
As long as you don’t appear in a rock, Gretchen thought. Instead she said, "Is flying really that bad for you?"
"Nah," Elle said unconvincingly, like when she said it was okay to eat the last cheeseball during movie night. "Claire and drugs will keep me sane."
She meant it lighthearted, Gretchen knew, but there was truth in there too.
Gretchen pulled the curtain back a little and gestured. "You can come in if you’d like. Help me wash my back."
"I’d like to, Doe Eyes, but I’ll have to take a rain check. Busy day."
"Okay." She gave her a little wave. "Shower check."
"See you at breakfast." Elle closed the door on her way out, trapping the steam inside the small bathroom.
Gretchen turned up her head and let the water run down her face. She gave up trying to relax and set about washing the sleep from her body. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad, a little voice inside hoped. Maybe they would all have a nice holiday together as a family.
She’d settle for a decent night’s sleep free from crazy dreams about two specials killing people. Not to mention the weird scripture one kept quoting about salt and light.
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