Deadly Visions Part 6

He'd practically begged her to come to Atlanta and let his team study her in the field. It would be good for everyone, he promised-him, her, and their entire cause.

Their cause. He'd said it like it was some kind of G.o.dd.a.m.ned crusade, like it was her duty to convert the world to their way of thinking.

What the h.e.l.l was she doing here?

She took the elevator up, entered her room, and headed straight for the minibar. They'd restocked the rum. Good. She needed it.

She ran a hot bath as she called in for her messages. Just the usual c.r.a.p. Guests needing to be rescheduled, requests for charity dinners, and a stack of audition tapes waiting for her perusal back in her office. The syndicator wanted a hip young "special correspondent"to host remote segments, so they were on the lookout for some young stud to appeal to the eighteen-to-forty-nine-year-old women whom advertisers coveted so much.

She tossed her cell phone onto the bathroom counter. Screw them all. She peeled off her clothes and lowered herself into the bathwater, trying to imagine all of her tensions floating from her body. It usually worked, but tonight she couldn't stop thinking about- "Monica..."

She froze. A sharp, eerie whisper from the other side of the bathroom. Surely she had only imagined it.

"Monica..."

She stood, clutching the plastic shower curtain across her torso.

"We've come for you, Monica."

She glanced around but saw no one.

"Your time has come."Thevoice appeared to emanate from the bathroom counter.

She huddled against the wall. The tiles were cold against her back."What the h.e.l.l do you want?"

There was a pause, then a long-drawn-out whisper, "We've come for you."

Her tears fell hot against her cheeks. What in the h.e.l.l was going on?

Still gripping the shower curtain, she stepped from the tub. One foot, then the other. Her heart was trying to jump out of her chest.

She didn't breathe as she stepped across the bathroom, bracing herself for that awful, slithering whisper. She moved past the washbasin, almost afraid to look toward the mirror. She glanced up in spite of herself.

She gasped. This couldn't be happening.

There, on her chest, was the circle-intersecting-bars symbol that had marked the murder victims.

She rubbed it with her fingertips, but it wouldn't go away.

Oh, Jesus. Get out, she told herself. Just get the h.e.l.l out of there.

She hurried from the bathroom, reached into the closet, and pulled out her robe. She yanked it on.

"Die, Monica...."

She screamed and jumped for the door. She turned the k.n.o.b and pulled.

The chain. The G.o.dd.a.m.ned security chain. She fumbled with it as the whispers grew louder and more intense.

"Monica...Die with us, Monica...."

She pulled the chain free and yanked the door open wide. She stumbled into the hallway."Leave me alone! Leave me the h.e.l.l alone!"

"We're coming for you, Monica."

"No!"

Her screams drew other hotel guests from their rooms behind her, but she couldn't stop. Not while that...thingwas after her.

The gla.s.s elevators loomed ahead, but she couldn't stop and wait for the car. Must keep moving. She reached the stairwell door and reached for the handle.

In the next instant, there was a sickening roar and flames erupted over her entire body.

"Die with us, Monica...."

Fire everywhere. Not everywhere, she realized. Just on her. White-hot flames attacking her, rolling over her legs and chest, licking at her neck and hair.

Pain. Agony.

It was as if the fires of h.e.l.l had come for her.

Joe stepped off the musty elevator and paced down the hallway toward Grady Memorial Hospital's intensive care unit. Carla and Howe were waiting at the nurses'station.

"What the h.e.l.l happened?"Joe asked.

Howe shrugged. "We're about to find out. All we know is that Monica Gaines made like a human torch in front of about half a dozen witnesses at her hotel."

"I got that much from the precinct,"Joe said. "Any idea how it happened?"

Carla shook her head. "I just talked to a uniformed cop on the scene, and according to the witnesses, she was running down the hall, screaming. Then, a few seconds later, she just ignited. It was like spontaneous combustion."

Before Joe could respond, a doctor with silver hair and round-shaped eyegla.s.ses strode through a doorway. Howe was on him immediately."How is she?"

The doctor took off his spectacles and wiped them on his green scrub shirt. "It's very serious. She has first- and second-degree burns over twenty-five to thirty percent of her body. She was in shock from fluid loss when they brought her in. We have her stabilized right now, but she still may not survive."

"I guess talking to her is out of the question,"Carla said.

"Actually, she wants to talk to you."

"She's conscious?"Carla asked.

"Heavily medicated, but awake."

"Isn't that a good sign?"

"Not necessarily. Her real problems could begin in a few days, when infection sets in. Her body may not be able to fight it, and if that happens, her organs will shut down."

"And there's nothing you can do to help fight the infection?"Joe asked.

"To help helpfight, yes. But that's all."

Joe nodded."Take us to her."

The doctor led them through the double doors to the intensive care unit. As they walked through the wide hallways, the hospital smells almost made Joe sick to his stomach. They reminded him of Angela's awful final weeks.

Let it go. At least for now.

They followed the doctor into a dim, single-bed ICU. Monica's face was red and swollen, and her delicate features were puffed beyond all recognition. Her arms and midsection were heavily bandaged.

Joe clenched his jaw. Only hours before, she'd been so full of life. s.h.i.t.

She whispered something. Joe leaned closer to hear."What is it?"

She whispered again."Pretty, ain't I?"

Joe managed a smile. "How did this happen, Monica?"

She stared at the ceiling. "They-they came for me."

"Who did?"Carla asked softly.

"The spirits. The ones who killed the others."

"You saw them?"Joe asked.

"I heard them. Voices in my room, terrible voices. I ran, but they caught me."Joe could see tears welling in the thin slits of her eyes. "They burned me."

"How did the fire start?"Joe asked.

"I don't know. It happened all at once, all over me. I couldn't stop it. I couldn't-"She sobbed, and an alarm went off from the pulse-oxygen monitor.

The doctor stepped forward and reset the alarm. "Relax, Monica. Just relax."He stared at the monitor until he was satisfied that the readings had stabilized. He turned toward the detectives."Sorry, but I have to cut this short. You can come back later."

"Poof, just like that. She lit up like a Roman candle." Jerry Tillinger shook his head. He and his wife, Emily, stood in the hallway outside their room, staring at the spot where Monica had caught fire. They were well into their eighties, and they seemed to be competing with each other to tell Joe, Howe, and Carla their version of the event.

"Did you see a spark or anything that precipitated the fire?"Joe asked.

"Not at all,"Jerry said. He wore thick black-framed eyegla.s.ses and a white goatee that reminded Joe of Colonel Sanders. "We had no warning. One second she was yelling and carrying on, the next she was burning up."

"Everybody was just standing around, doing a fat lot of nothing."Emily turned proudly toward her husband. "But not Jerry here. He whipped off his coat, threw it around the woman, and tackled her. He probably saved Miss Gaines's life."

"I'm sure he did,"Carla said.

Jerry smiled modestly. "I was on an aircraft carrier in the navy. I saw how the fire crew worked."

Joe retraced the steps from Monica's room to the place in front of the stairwell. The carpet was singed from the blaze. "Did you see anyone else around here?"

Jerry shook his head."Nope, just the people who'd come out of their rooms to see what the ruckus was about. I'd say there was n.o.body within twenty feet of her."

The elevator chime sounded and the doors slid open. A portly, thirtyish man with a thick mustache stepped through the door. "Atlanta PD?"he asked.

Joe flashed his badge."You got it. And you are?"

The man flashed his own ID."Ed Bonafas, director of hotel security. I'm an ex-cop."

"Where?"Howe asked.

"In Charleston. I'm just doing this until something opens up around here."

"Something will open up, don't worry,"Howe said. "Catch me on the right day, and I'll give you my job."

Joe c.o.c.ked his head toward a ceiling-mount security camera aimed in the direction of the elevators. "Please tell me that thing was working."

"That thing was working,"Bonafas a.s.sured him. "That's why I'm up here. Wanna see a show?"

Joe, Howe, and Carla followed him to the plush first-floor security offices, where a monitor rested at the end of a long conference table. Bonafas pressed the remote, and a black-and-white image flickered on the monitor.

"Jeez,"Howe said. "You guys spend a fortune on this office but can't kick in a few extra bucks for color cameras with decent resolution?"

"Priorities,"Bonafas muttered. "Do me a favor and repeat what you just said to the hotel manager, will you?"He pointed to the screen."Look."

The camera offered a clear view of the elevators and stairwell doors. Monica ran toward the camera, and although there was no audio, it was obvious that she was screaming. As she reached for the door handle, a flame suddenly ignited on her sleeve and mid-section. She stumbled backward, writhing and twisting until Jerry threw his overcoat around her and pulled her to the ground.

"Jesus,"Carla said. She turned to Joe. "Do you believe in spontaneous combustion?"

"No."

"What are you talking about?"Howe said. "There are all kinds of doc.u.mented cases of people burning up and their clothes aren't even singed."

Joe shook his head. "Many of those victims happened to be smokers in poor health. It's probable they suffered a stroke or heart attack while holding a cigar or cigarette, which began a slow ignition of their bodies that took place over a period of several hours. The bodies would be consumed, while the clothing may only burn slightly. A few years ago, there was a study done with pig carca.s.ses that bore this out."

Howe grinned. "Your explanations for some of this stuff are freakier than if they were the real thing."

Carla pointed toward the monitor. "This took only a few seconds."

"And her clothes were burned too."Joe took the remote control from Bonafas and scanned the picture back. He replayed the ignition one frame at a time. "Amazing. It looks like the fire erupted everywhere between one frame and the next, in just one-thirtieth of a second."

"If that's not spontaneous, I don't know what is,"Bonafas said.

Joe put down the remote. "Do you know anything about the voices she said she heard?"

Bonafas shrugged. "Only that she was running from them."

"Did anybody else hear them?"