The Awakening s-1 Page 9

  He accepted the coffee in one hand and lifted the graphic novel with the other. "You read this?"

  "Are you kidding? It's the best. I've collected them all. They're my most popular item. They—"

  To Luther's surprise, Mort suddenly clammed up. "What?"

  He shook his head. "Nothing. I just… I realized how you might look at it, me reading graphic novels."

  The lie showed all over poor Mort's face. For some reason, he didn't want to talk about the story. With more to ponder, Luther again skimmed the cover.

  Something about that cover depiction drew him. The claws of curiosity dug in, and Luther couldn't let it go. "Mind if I borrow this?"

  "Why?"

  "I've heard good things about it."

  Suspicion showed again. "Yeah? From who?"

  Thanks to Gary, he didn't have to lie. "There's a college kid who hangs out at the station, getting in some credit time. He cleans up, runs errands, hands out the mail… that sort of thing. He mentioned the novel to me just this morning. Raved about it, actually."

  Staring down at the floor, Mort muttered, "He's probably getting anxious for the next installment. I know I am."

  "So can I borrow it?"

  Drawn back to himself, Mort looked at Luther. "Uh, sure. But… you'll bring it back, right? I mean, they become collector's items. I wouldn't want anything to happen to it."

  "I'll keep it safe. Soon as I'm done, I'll return it to you."

  "Thanks. Take your time. I've already read it, but a new one should be out soon, so I was just rereading it until then."

  It occurred to Luther that he could accomplish a lot by becoming Morty's friend. "When do you expect Gaby back?"

  "I don't. That is, she comes and goes on her own. Most of the time I don't even hear her. I swear, she's like a ghost."

  Did Gaby sneak out, or was stealth a natural part of her personality? "Sounds like you have plenty of time to visit."

  "Sure."

  Luther glanced at his watch. "Let's order a pizza. My treat. It'll give us a chance to get better acquainted, and you can tell me more about the people around here."

  Specifically, he could tell him more about Gaby.

  Blending into a hospital couldn't have been easier. Watching the woman covertly proved simpler still. Curiosity was sharp, but then, to a scientific mind that never rested, this new phenomenon held almost as much interest as the cancer growth.

  Thinking of the cancer growth wrought both satisfaction and annoyance.

  Too many medical critics want to proclaim that the procedures violate a cardinal rule of surgery by leaving dead tissue in the body. Of course that can—and usually does—lead to sepsis. But on a dying body, what difference did a massive infection make? Why can't the skeptics grasp the underlying significance in what we can learn, what advancements can be made in the field of cancer research?

  Idiots.

  But not this one, not the spiritual girl. She saw too much, and understood everything. She had a similar intelligence.

  sharp and unwavering, and a way of dealing with things that proved almost as satisfying as a major medical breakthrough.

  Stepping into a patient's room gave all the cover needed. The girl went on past, her long ragged jeans dragging the hospital floor, her lank hair in her face, her eyes almost unseeing. She'd turned her thoughts inward, and for the moment, forgotten her purpose.

  Interesting.

  So not only lightning distracted her, but an inflated empathy for the ailing took her off course, too? Good to know.

  And even easier to use.

  But first, like the cancer subjects, this would be tested. After all, brilliant minds insisted on analyzing all that they could. Then, with the results in hand, the knowledge gained could be put to good use.

  For an extended length of time, Gaby wandered unnoticed through the hospital. Silent as a wraith and just as devoid of her surroundings, she went up elevators, down halls, in and out of waiting rooms. At times her senses prickled, but overall, the despondency of strangers overwhelmed her. She heard soft sobbing, loud wailing, and witnessed restless, worried pacing.

  If she'd had a heart, it would have broken into tiny little pieces.

  But what she'd once claimed as a heart had been shredded years ago.

  Eventually, as she again became familiar with the suffering, everything blunted enough for her to concentrate on her unease. By then, she could detect no evil, and in fact felt the power of angels lurking about. Auras, eight feet square, showed strength of purpose. The exact opposite of the draining auras near the abandoned isolation hospital, these hues fed her, strengthening her, giving her clarity.

  Whomever she'd followed had gotten away.

  Time for her to leave, too. Next time, Gaby assured herself, she'd do better.

  To get her bearings in the sepulchral hall, she looked around and realized she'd wandered into the cancer ward. Several yards away, a nurses' station stirred with lights, machines, sounds, and kindly-looking women.

  No. Not here. Making haste, Gaby turned to leave before she got noticed.

  Mere seconds before she reached the elevator, she detected the soft cooing of a woman. It was a familiar sound, one of insanity and surrender.

  One without hope.

  Her eyes closed. Father had made those indecipherable sounds too, when the cancer had reached his brain and modern medicine numbed his pain. They sounded placid enough, but Gaby knew the truth. They meant nothing, no more than the body issuing them.

  Unable to help herself, she slowly turned and looked into the room.

  A shrunken female form, barely clinging to life, rested flat on her back in the bed. Beside her, a plump nurse gently eased a damp cloth over her arms. The cancer victim made another pleasurable sound, and the nurse smiled.

  "It's all right, Dorie. I'm here. Your family has been to visit, but they needed to go home. You know you're very loved, my dear. Very, very loved. They all care so much. And I care. I'll be here until morning, and then Eloise will take my place. You know how you like it when she brushes your hair."

  Hot tears welled in Gaby's eyes, choking her, blurring her vision of the deceptive scene. Someone touched her arm, and she flinched away, coming back to the here and now in a crashing disturbance.

  "Hey, it's okay," the man said. He wore a cleric's collar and a sympathetic smile. All around him, a swelling purple aura swam and shifted, indicating a noble and spiritual soul. "Is Dorie a relative of yours?"

  Gaby straightened as much as she could. To her horror, she could feel her nose running, but she had nothing to wipe it.

  The man handed her a hankie. "It's so difficult, I know."

  Gaby snatched the hankie and wiped her eyes first, then blew hard. Uncaring of decorum, her voice broken with pain, she said, "It's fucking inhumane."

  The man peered in at Dorie and nodded. "It's not something we can easily understand. But we all do what we can."

  "There's nothing that can be done!" Gaby didn't mean to raise her voice, but memories of Father growing weaker by the day still infested her mind. Over and over, she visualized the awful treatments that made him suffer more than the worst torture. She remembered his agony, his prayers, and then his blankness. She remembered… everything.

  "Sometimes, no," the cleric agreed. "But the tenderness does help soothe the pain."

  "You can't know that." But Gaby prayed that somehow he could.

  In answer, he patted her and his compassionate smile came again. "I thank God often for the angels here on earth, the ones with the patience and caring to take on so much suffering day in and day out."

  Damn it, her eyes flooded again and the hankie received another loud honk. Choking out the words, Gaby said, "I can't be in here. I have to go."

  He squeezed her shoulder. "Of course, child. Go, collect yourself."

  But Gaby knew the nurses would stay.

  The cleric would stay.

  They weren't cowardly like her.

  Angels on earth
, he'd called them. It must be true, because even as she rushed to escape, she felt the cottony softness in the air, and around the black spots of imbalance and the gray shadows of sickness and lugubriousness, she saw the cocoon of sympathetic green and calm blue hues. They came from the caregivers.

  They came from angels.

  Two nurses rode the elevator with Gaby, speaking low to one another, giving her privacy in their averted gazes.

  One said, "I wish Dr. Chiles could always be on call. I really don't like dealing with Dr. Marton."

  "No one does," the other nurse replied. "Talk about clinical."

  "And lack of feelings…"

  The nurses grew silent, leading Gaby to wonder about Dr. Marton. Was he like the doctor Father had, detached to the point of leaving a body shivering cold? Gaby had hated talking to the doctor, listening to his evasive non-answers and lack of respect toward a man who was no longer a man, but a shell with a disease.

  The elevator doors opened and Gaby launched out, almost running, so anxious to breathe in fresh air that she thought she might hurl. In the very back of her mind, she thought she sensed a laugh, but the distress of her body kept her from reading it clearly.

  She burst through the emergency room doors and, doing all she could not to fall to her knees, sucked in the humid summer air.

  She could have returned to her apartment at that point, but she didn't want to.

  Ignoring the strange crowd loitering outside the hospital, hoping to buy prescription drugs or trade sex for favors, Gaby headed for the street. She had a few miles to go before she'd reach the apartment. But she intended to go beyond that.

  She intended to seek out the woods where she'd located the abandoned isolation hospital.

  For some reason, she felt drawn there.

  Chapter Eight

  A sweltering, setting sun cast the dreary neighborhood in a muggy haze. The reflection off the blacktop patches on broken concrete roads could blind a person and added to the smothering heat, but Gaby didn't move from her position at the front of her apartment building. Sweat dampened her scalp and pasted her hair to her forehead, temples and neck. Even though she'd cut it, her hair still felt too thick and smothering.

  Sunglasses in place, flip-flops kicked to the side, she sprawled boneless on the scabrous steps and surveyed every inch of the surrounding area. For the past four nights, she'd tried to go back to the isolation hospital. Each time she had to alter her plans, knowing someone followed her.

  Detective Cross?

  Morty?

  Or someone, something, else?

  Sleep became elusive, as did peace of mind. Her thoughts twittered with too many possibilities, too many questions. For once, she begged for a calling from God, a summons to attack, a divine guide to the evil that plagued her.

  No summons came.

  She wanted to curse God, but it wasn't easy. Commination against Him stuck in her throat. Her faith was such that if He didn't send her after the demon, she knew there had to be a reason.

  It just sucked that the reasons were never in her understanding.

  As Gaby pondered her quandary, a shadow climbed the stairs and crept over her.

  Already sensing whom she'd see, she glanced up, and there stood Luther Cross. Too tired and strung out to care, she diverted her gaze away again.

  Dressed in another button-front shirt and tidy slacks, he sank down to sit beside her. "You are one hard woman to track down, Gaby Cody."

  Her first and last name. What else did he know of her? "Drop dead." Mentally, she retracted that order, just in case He was listening—which she doubted. God couldn't be bothered with such pettiness. She just didn't want to take any chances. Her soul had blackened enough already.

  "I'd rather not, thank you. And I'd rather not arrest you, but I will if you make me."

  "Yeah?" Stiffened arms braced behind her, Gaby tipped her head back so that the sun caressed her throat. "For what?"

  "Assaulting an officer?"

  In her tautened position, the laugh sounded more like choking. "An officer who molested me?"

  He chuckled—and Gaby felt his gaze on her chest. "Touché. Not that anyone would believe you."

  Too drained to measure her words, Gaby straightened and asked, "Why not? Because I don't have anything to grope, or because you have a pure aura? We both know you still did it."

  For half a minute, Luther remained utterly silent. Gaby listened to the rumble of engines and the quieter thrum of tires on pavement as cars went past. She heard the muted congestion of voices across the street, a few doors down, at the end of dark alleys. She heard doors opening, a dog barking, and off in the distance, the lone but not unfamiliar wail of a siren.

  "Okay." Luther propped his forearms on his knees. His eyes narrowed and his brow pinched. "Let's skip the strange comment for just a second to clear up something else."

  "If you insist."

  "Yes, we both know I did it, no way for me to dispute it. But we both also know that's not why you ran from me."

  "When did I run?"

  "A few days ago. With blood on your neck." His jaw flexed. "After you tried to unman me."

  Her smile quirked. "Listen up, cop. If I'd tried, you'd be a choirboy. Believe it."

  Luther accepted that without expression. "So why'd you run?"

  Sighing, Gaby knew she couldn't lie. She had run, he'd seen her, so denying it would do no good. But her reasons would remain her own. Curious, she asked, "Why do you think?"

  Without missing a single beat, Luther stated, "You know something about the murder and you don't want to tell me."

  Well hell. Gaby took off her sunglasses and scrubbed at her eyes. She had to throw him off that scent somehow. "Yeah, you've got me dead to rights, officer. I know all about it."

  "Don't be a smart-ass, Gaby. If you saw something that night, it's your duty to tell me."

  "My duty." How ludicrous that sounded.

  Luther firmed even more. "If you're afraid of retaliation, I can protect you."

  That brought about a genuine laugh—of amusement and bitterness. "If you want to think so, who am I to say otherwise?"

  His irritation hit her in waves. "What exactly does all that sarcasm mean?"

  Time to run away. Again.

  But before she'd even gotten her ass off the step, Luther blocked her. "I won't let anything happen to you, Gaby. I swear."

  Temper snapping, she rounded on him. "Good God, man, don't be a complete imbecile. You can't protect me. I'm the one who—"

  She cut herself short on that awesome disclosure. Breathing hard, she stared at Luther and saw his fascination, his interest. Oh God.

  Rot out her tongue. Make her mute. Let her faint. Something.

  But the only thing that happened was Luther's puzzled frown. "You're the one who… ? What? Murdered that old man? Mutilated his body?" His voice deepened to a feral growl. "Lopped off his damn head?"

  Shaken, depleted, Gaby pulled herself to her feet. She stared across the street as she asked, "Where'd you get that idea?"

  Slowly, Luther stood too. "I didn't. Have that idea, I mean. I was being facetious."

  "Oh. Good." She needed to go inside. No. One glance at the dreary entrance and she knew there was nothing in there but her restless thoughts. She started across the street instead, going where, she didn't know yet.

  Just away from Luther Cross.

  "Let me tell you something right now. Gaby. You're a nanosecond away from being arrested."

  Gaby waved that away. "Leave me alone. You're nuts."

  "I will arrest you."

  "No you won't."

  Growling again, he warned, "Don't try me."

  Gaby stopped, but didn't turn to face him. "What do you want, Luther?"

  She counted five heartbeats before he replied.

  "Having you say my name is a start. But I have questions, and I want answers."

  Over her shoulder, Gaby took his measure. "What kind of questions?"

  "The kind be
st handled in conversation instead of at the station with you in handcuffs."

  Another tired sigh almost took away her knees. She moved two steps closer to him. "You were telling the truth? No one would believe me if I told them what you did?"

  He stepped closer, too. "I don't know, but is it worth the effort when you look so beat?"

  It didn't take her long to decide to give in. "Come on. I'll buy us Cokes and we can sit by the playground."

  "The same playground you used to lose me last time." But he fell into step beside her.

  Neither of them spoke. When she reached Chuck's, she went to the window and gave their order. "Anything else?" she asked Luther.

  "I'm good."

  Yeah, he was. The colorful sunset enhanced a large orange halo encircling him. Optimism, strength. He had both in spades. He'd make a good teacher, a capable leader of others.

  Gaby dug two bills from her pocket and paid for the drinks. The cans must've sat in ice because they dripped frosty chips, and when she popped the tab, a fog escaped.

  After a deep drink, Luther put a fist to his mouth to muffle a belch and said, "Good. Thank you."

  Gaby rolled the cold can over her forehead and, knowing he'd follow, went up the street to an empty bench. With each step she examined the playground. Metal equipment wore shades of rust. A cracked wooden swing offered splinters to an unknowing hiney. But the few children still at play didn't care. Shirtless, most of them shoeless, they mellowed as evening approached, carefree, unaware, and happy.

  Just as they should be.

  Gaby's stride kicked up brittle leaves. The sun sank further into the horizon until lengthening shadows encompassed everything. Most of the kids would head home now. Others, more neglected, would linger or wander off to different, less puerile amusements.

  Gaby stopped by the chain-link fence. As lampposts flickered on, mothers called their offspring home, their voices carrying on the stagnant air.

  The youthful crowd thinned—and an older crowd crawled out.

  The nightlife started, and with it came a force of hookers, dope dealers, drunks, and thugs. Gaby started to sit.

  "Careful."

  Luther used the toe of his shoe to nudge away a dead, dried-up mouse curled around the bench leg. She felt much like that critter—used up and frangible.