Free Lucidity by Raine Weaver

Streetlights patterned after their Victorian counterparts were encircled by raised beds of bulbs, with purple crocuses nudging noses carefully through the snow.
    Rucker’s Pharmacy was, apparently, one of the hot spots of the community. Sports cars, rusted vans and Amish buggies all vied for parking space around the corner location where the perky voice of a persuasive woman announced store specials to all who would listen.
    Parker escorted a glowing Carly inside with his hand on her elbow, making a slow circuit of the aisles. No suspicious gatherings of men, no obvious threats. Still, he was reluctant to let her roam free—but she’d been right. Everyone needed an occasional breath of fresh air.
    He’d pick up razor blades, an extra pack of ciggies, deodorant and a prepaid phone for himself. Maybe glance at a few of the half-truth tabloids to see if the One Hundred had been declared enemies of the state yet. By then, his lady should be ready to go.
    But when he found himself finished and standing by the checkout, impatiently tapping his foot, he decided he’d waited long enough.
    What was the deal with women and shopping anyway?
    A cursory search of the mirrored domes that overlooked the aisles revealed Carly, still frowning over rows of nail polish, with a small shopping basket slung over one arm.
    And sneaking up behind her, unseen, was a disheveled young man in the company of a woman, fingers curved and extended to grab her.
    “ No! ”
    A colorful stand of the latest DVDs went flying in Parker’s wake as he charged blindly through the store, shoving startled customers out of his way. Guy stocking up on cheap wine—pushed into the cooler. Baby stroller blocking the row—hurtled over. Dammit, he knew this had been a mistake. Carlotta was paying no attention at all, and he was attracting too much.
    Taking the cut of a connecting aisle too sharply, he slipped, cursing, to one knee, his boots still slick with snow. That would smart like a sonofabitch later, but he couldn’t take the time to care.
    Stumbling forward, he swerved into the second aisle and found Carly’s eyes, wide and surprised, on him—just as the strange man reached out and covered her face with his hands.
    “Carly!”
    Charging toward them like a maddened bull, Parker roared as Carly kicked forward, pulled back into the arms of her attacker. And then Parker was on them, shoving Carlotta violently aside as his arm locked around the throat of the attacker.
    A woman screamed. He couldn’t tell whether it was Carly or the other. It didn’t matter. He had the man in a choke hold and his neck tilted at a dangerous angle. “Who are you?”
    His prisoner sputtered and tugged uselessly at Parker’s arm, but offered no answer. Not in any intelligible language, at least.
    “I said who the fuck are you, and what do you want with the girl?”
    “Parker!”
    He became dimly aware of desperate fingers digging into his other arm, his vest, as his prisoner’s face began to purple—as he was still trying to decide whether he wanted to strangle him or snap his freaking neck.
    “Parker, please .” The voice was Carly’s, and she was frantically trying to shake him loose. “For God’s sake, stop being an animal. Let him go! I know the man!”
    Wheeling to face her and maintaining his hold, he barely bit back a nasty retort. A dark, thin veil of murderous rage had fallen over his eyes, blocking out everything except the face of his quarry. He was hoping for a quiet killing. Why was she interfering? “Dammit, Carlotta, will you let me do my…what? You said what?”
    “Munroe. Let. Him. Go . This is Sam Lorrie.” She gasped, still struggling to put space between his bulging arm and the man’s throat. “He helped organize the group experiment at Stanford. And that,” she added, inclining her head, “is Violet Cushing. A member of the One Hundred. This guy you’re about to strangle happens to be her boyfriend.”
    “I…we…” the girl stammered,