PsyCop: GhosTV Part 12

"Sure, sure, right this way."

My insides froze up at the thought finding Lisa right there in the

87.

middle of it-and me being the only one able to see her. I did my best to keep my face neutral, but I might have squinted as Chekotah herded us out of his new office. The secretary-Lyle?-didn't seem to have made any leeway at all with his phone, and was in fact looking at the back as if he was seriously considering just unplugging the d.a.m.n thing. Despite his frustrations with the phone, he paused to give us a good ogle as we pa.s.sed by.

Doors opened an inch or two and people peered out as we walked down a long, narrow hallway to Lisa's room in the dormitory wing of the building. I smelled the room before I really saw it. The odor of burnt sage was just as pungent there as it had been in Chekotah's office. "Did she smudge it right before she left?" I asked. And I wondered just how much sage she'd burned.

"No...that was from this morning."

We all trooped in. Not much to see. Twin bed, desk, laptop. No decorations, except for a photo of a grim-looking Mexican couple in a faded 1970's green-tinged shot. A half-empty bag of Cheetos with the top rolled down and secured with a hair clip. A Netflix disc. Not particularly lived-in, other than a wad of clothes on the floor at the foot of the bed. Then again, she was going to be leaving in a month.

"The smudging," Jacob said. "Is it...policy?"

"Well, no. I was just...." He sighed. "I was meditating. Trying to see if I could get a handle on the situation. Any kind of insight that might help."

"Wouldn't a precog be better for that?" I said. It just kinda popped out. He'd said himself he wasn't precognitive. PsyTrain was no Camp h.e.l.l, but someone there had to be at least a precog three or four.

How the heck could someone possibly disappear in a building full of psychics without one of them knowing what happened?

"No one's turned up anything," he said. "Obviously. Or we'd have Lisa

88.

back." Snippy again, though I guess there wasn't any other way to respond to my precog remark.

"And Karen," Dreyfuss said. Maybe a little too brightly. Or maybe I was projecting.

"And Karen."

Karen Frugali's room was connected to Lisa's by the shared bathroom in between. The furniture was the same, but the bed was set at a weird diagonal to the rest of the room. A red Chinese screen parti-tioned off another corner, and behind that, stacks of books four feet high stretched up the floor, teetering slightly, as if we'd just caught them slipping into a dust jacket that was a little more comfortable.

"Feng Shui," Dreyfuss said. "Gotta love it."

I knew what Feng Shui was about, vaguely, but it was slippery knowledge that hadn't fared too well among all the other memories I'd repressed. I mean, I got that it was about the flow of...Chi. s.h.i.t. I was surprised I even remembered that much. But what I didn't know was what type of Psych would concern herself with it. "What was Karen's talent again?" I said.

"Light worker," Chekotah said. He was staring down at a picture of a baby on Karen's nightstand, so he didn't notice my WTF-expression.

I glanced at Jacob, who shrugged. Good to know I wasn't the only one who'd never heard of it.

"What level?" I asked.

"We don't rank our students according to level," Chekotah snapped, and again I felt like I'd somehow managed to pogo on his very last nerve. "That's for the government to do."

"You know what I'm thinking?" Dreyfuss said, again in his we're-all-pals-here voice. "Directly upstairs, there are a couple of bedrooms

89.

just like these, exact same configuration. Right? Makes sense for us to stay in those."

"But the student rooms are nowhere near as s.p.a.cious as the staff-"

"It'd really expedite this whole thing."

Chekotah closed his eyes and composed himself for a moment. Even with everyone playing nice, it looked like our visit was sucking all the energy right out of him. Maybe he needed to go stand behind the red screen.

While Chekotah went back to his office to break the news to Lyle that he'd need to get two different rooms ready for us, we cooled our heels in the cafeteria and waited for the students we'd displaced to clear out. Again, I kept my eyes open for something that would set off my Camp h.e.l.l alarms, and again I discovered I had nothing to worry about. The PsyTrain cafeteria had framed "inspirational" posters on the walls, and potted plants the size of small trees in the corners. Nothing fancy, but not the cafeteria of a government inst.i.tution, either.

Dreyfuss bought us each a c.o.ke from the machine without bothering to ask Jacob or me if we wanted one. Jacob popped the tab on his while I was considering not drinking mine out of sheer stubbornness, but then I decided I could probably use the calories. Especially since I'd refused the pretzel.

"So, they don't score the talent here," Dreyfuss said. He was so good at striking up a conversation. What a shame that skill was wasted on someone like him. "Then again, even the regular schools around here probably grade report cards with self-esteem-building words of encouragement and animal stickers."

"Speaking of numbers," Jacob said, probably figuring he'd make the most of it if Dreyfuss insisted on chatting. "What's this Five Faith?"

"Been around for a few years now. At first they were moderate,

90.

perfectly reasonable-that's how all good cults start out. And then they turned weird."

"They're made up of five faiths?" I asked.

"No, nothing so egalitarian. Buddhists, Jews and Sons of Islam need not apply. Only Christians who're fed up with the way their own church handles the whole Psych issue. Very bible-centric. Heavy on Old Testament smiting. The 'five' refers to five senses-as G.o.d intended. So they've determined by poring through the English translation of the Latin translation of the Aramaic bestseller of 500 B.C."

"What're they gonna do?" I said. "Make converts stand outside holding protest signs while they hand out religious tracts?"

"High-level medium in Florida went kaboom two years ago? That was Five Faith."

"Wait," I said, in an attempt to figure out how Dreyfuss was spinning it. "I thought you said they were Christians."

"So was the Spanish Inquisition. And I'm not talking about the John Cleese version."

Jacob had pulled up some articles on his phone and started to scan through them. "They don't seem to have a big presence in the Midwest."

"And if I have my druthers," Dreyfuss said, "I'm keeping it that way.

They had their eye on a hunk of property in Skokie-but they were mysteriously outbid. Hopefully they'll decide Chicagoland real estate's too rich for their blood and go away. But given the tenacity of religious fanatics, I somehow doubt it."

Lyle appeared in the cafeteria doorway looking somehow odd, in a way I couldn't quite put my finger on. "Okay. Your rooms are ready.

I'll show you, uh, where they are." Fidgety.

We stood and filed out behind him, and piled into a retro-looking

91.

elevator all full of mirrors and Spanish-style trim. Once the doors squeaked shut and we were all stuck breathing each other's air, I noticed he was wearing aftershave. Fresh aftershave, like he'd just put it on. I tried not to look too puzzled, since everyone could see everyone else in all those mirrors, and I like to keep my bewilderment to myself when I can help it.

The second floor hall was a carbon copy of the first floor hall, except there was a window at the far end instead of a door. Stucco walls, moderately tacky carpeting, and more black metal lighting fixtures than you could shake a stick at. Lyle strode to the doors of the rooms directly above Lisa's, pivoted, and started talking in a long rush.

"Okay, so, these are your rooms. I had the linens changed but there wasn't enough time to shampoo the carpets like I'd normally do. We have a wired Internet connection beside the desk, wireless network- pa.s.sword is nirvana-and basic satellite on the TVs. Thermostat's beside the door. Fresh towels in the bathroom. Basic soap and shampoo are by the sink-not tested on animals, of course-but if you need anything else, our visiting herbalist will be here in the morning, and she'd be able to help you." He stopped suddenly, as if the speech he'd prepared for us wasn't done but he'd suddenly drawn a blank, and he was unable to go on.

"I don't know about you," Dreyfuss said, "but I'm dying for a little power nap. Flying always wears me out." Flying, pilot. Real cute.

He slipped around Lyle and peeked into the first room. "This one's got the extra bed in it. I'll take the solo room, since the ex claims I snore."

He held his hand out. Lyle stared at it for a moment, nonplussed, then fumbled a key out of his pocket. "Wake me up if anything interesting happens," Dreyfuss said, and headed into his room.

"Wait," Lyle said.

92.

Dreyfuss backed up and gave him a raised-eyebrow "what now?" look.

"What about the crate? It's taking up the whole lobby."

"Oh, that's Detective Bayne's. Just have it brought up to his room."

93.

Chapter 11.

Our room was small-but small doesn't actually bother me. The bedroom in my old apartment barely held my bed, a single dresser and a nightstand. I'm not too crazy about clutter, though, and too many pieces of furniture were vying for position in this particular room.

The walls and bedspreads were seafoam green, like the countertop of a faded diner. A full-sized bed hugged each wall, which left the dresser that the second bed had displaced in front of the window. I was fine with that. I'd rather have a view of a dresser, even one with a big mirror such as this one, than a set of bars. The smell of vinegar-based cleaner and burnt sage lingered in the air.

I was too keyed up to know if the place felt good or not, in the way that Sticks and Stones felt good-but it definitely didn't feel psychically stained, like Dreyfuss' office. That was vaguely comforting.

Jacob helped one of the security guards from downstairs wedge the gigantic crate into the gap between the beds while I ducked into the bathroom doorway to avoid being flattened. The guard had to crawl over the bed and pull the dolly along behind him. The green bedspread pulled back and revealed a floral print sheet set so brightly colored it made my eyes hurt.

Once the guard left and closed the door behind him, Jacob gave the room a final once-over, then looked at me. "You okay?" I nodded.

94.

He indicated the crate with a jerk of his chin. "Any idea what that is?"

"Nope."

"Are we alone here?"

I glanced under a lampshade as if a radio transmitter would be conveniently located there for me to demonstrate for him. No such luck.

It was just a lampshade. "I doubt it."