Trance. Part 32

"Well, I hadn't intended to break the door down," I said.

Marco quirked an eyebrow. He was on the verge of retorting when my Vox beeped. I grabbed it.

"That's great, Renee, but we're kind of busy here."

"s.h.i.t." Helpful and also terrifying on some basic level.

Static interfered with the rest of her statement. I tapped the side of the Vox. "Flex? Can you hear me? Flex?"

Marco pulled out his Vox and tried. "Flex, it is Onyx, come in. Flex, Onyx. h.e.l.lo?" Same static. "Strange."

More than strange. Downright unsettling. Psystorm saw a face, someone he knew I would recognize. Was it the same face the female Warden had seen before she died? We had to keep this visit short.

"Someone's moving in the front room," Gage said. "A woman just asked if he wanted anything to drink." His entire face lit up when he smiled. "Ethan just said he wanted some apple juice. He's here."

I fisted my good hand to stop from throwing my arms around Gage and settled for a face-aching grin. Relief settled over me, calming some of my queasiness. Only a small niggle of worry remained, slanted toward the loss of Vox communication with HQ.

Ethan was here, and he was safe, and that was what was important. I pressed the doorbell. Gage winced. d.a.m.n, I should have warned him to dial back his hearing before I rang. I caught his eye and mouthed I'm sorry.

He shrugged it off, centered himself. "She's coming. At the door. Walking away. She's telling him who's here."

"What's he saying?"

"Nothing yet." He grinned. "He asked if a guy with silver eyes was outside, and she said yes. He said no use in pretending we aren't home, they know." A pause. "Here she comes."

The front door swung open. Alicia Monroe moved into the doorway, arms folded across her ample chest. She was a stocky woman, big-boned without being overweight, with close-cropped black hair and piercing blue eyes. Tattoos covered her neck and peeked out from the sleeves of her T-shirt. If I hadn't known she was a restaurant manager, I would have pegged her for a bouncer.

"I know who you are," Alicia said. A gentle lilt remained in her voice, softening it and creating a mismatch with her tough appearance. "Come on inside."

She stepped back and allowed us entry. The apartment was small, clean. Tan walls, checked navy curtains, a collection of matching catalogue furniture that completed a very country style. It smelled like apples and patchouli-two more things defying me to categorize her.

"How is he?" I asked.

"I'm not a nurse, but I think he's good. I don't have anything stronger than ibuprofen for the pain he's in. He won't complain, though. He's keeping down fluids, and he had some tomato soup last night."

My eyes flickered toward the bedroom door, half open to reveal a slab of sunlight on the chocolate-brown carpeting. The quiet murmur of a television set trickled out.

"Thank you for taking care of him, Ms. Monroe," Gage said.

"It's Alicia, please. I wanted to call you guys when he showed up. He made me promise not to. I kind of owed him, so I didn't."

I shook my head. "It's okay, Alicia. He was with someone who could take care of him, and that's all that matters."

A bell dinged in the other room. Alicia smiled, showing rows of perfect teeth. The first left incisor had a jewel embedded in it. "He's calling for you. I'll wait out here."

Gage and Marco remained still, and it took a moment to realize they were staring at me; deferring to their leader the task of talking to Ethan. I squared my shoulders, nerves twisting my stomach into knots for no good reason. It was only Ethan, for crying out loud.

I stuck my head in through the door. The bed was angled away, toward the room's single window. A tall, narrow chest occupied the s.p.a.ce between the suede-covered headboard and the door. I pushed, allowing myself room to enter. A longer dresser that matched the chest stood against the opposite wall, covered with bottles and compacts and jewelry boxes overflowing with baubles. Skeins of red fabric draped the walls and gave the room a calm, meditative quality. No drapes covered the open window, allowing a perfect view of Mt. Wilson.

The television was mounted on the wall, its volume now muted. A bedside table-an obvious match to the rest of the room's stuff-held an array of cups, bowls, pill bottles, and a damp washrag. I tore my eyes away from the details, finally giving Ethan my full attention. He lay in the middle of the bed, surrounded by pillows and a rich-looking satin coverlet. All of the red in the room made his hair look more orange than usual, contrasting sharply to the pallor of his face. Pale or not, he looked ten times better than the last time I'd seen him. Stronger, more capable.

He blinked rapidly, like an animal expecting to be hit at any moment. I antic.i.p.ated defiance, to be on the receiving end of a defensive rant, or even to get a snarled demand to go away and leave him alone. Instead, I saw a pool of shame in his eyes.

The nervous swirling in my stomach faded quickly. My shoulders relaxed. A dozen different thoughts raced through my mind, a dozen questions and demands. He didn't give me a chance to speak first.

"Geez, Teresa, you look like s.h.i.t on toast."

A so do you response died on my lips. I surprised myself (and probably him, too) by replying with, "Do you know how much it's going to cost to fix the hole you put in the Medical Center wall?"

Ethan's lips parted. His brow furrowed. He didn't seem to know if I was joking or serious, and for a brief moment, neither did I. "Are you going to bill me for it?" he asked, hesitation in his voice.

I pursed my lips and pretended to mull it over. "I suppose I could just have it taken out of your paycheck for the next couple of months."

He stared.

"Or ..." I drew out the alternative for effect. His face was priceless. "Or, you could come home, get better, and promise to never run away like this again. That kind of repayment appeals to me more."

The corner of his mouth twitched. I didn't speak, didn't even blink until the twitch became a complete smile.

"I was a coward for running away. I'm sorry, Teresa. But I kept thinking about Janel and William, and I just couldn't stand the idea of Specter hurting anyone through me. I panicked."

I climbed onto the bed, stretched out next to him, and slipped my arm through his, mindful of the still-fresh wounds on his chest.

"Careful. If Gage sees us, he might get jealous."

"We all feel that way, you know," I said, ignoring his tease.

To which he responded, "What? Jealous?"

"Dork." I pinched his arm lightly. "You never want to hurt people you care about, Ethan, and it's worse when you can't even make the choice; when someone takes that control away. I can't promise it won't happen, and I can't promise a happy ending to all of this."

He snickered, resting his head against my shoulder. "You really need to work on your pep talks, if you're trying to sell me on coming back."

"If you want pep, get a pill."

"There's the Teresa I know and love."

"Hah. So, Alicia seems nice, in an I'll-beat-you-up-if-you-hurt-my-friend kind of way."

"She's great, really great. How did you find her, anyway?"

"Are you questioning my detective skills, Wind Master?"

"No, just your present deductive reasoning skills. That hand looks sore, and it wasn't broken two days ago, which means you've been sidelined by both injury and pain pills recently."

"Good call. Marco found her, with a little help from Dahlia."

He twisted his neck and stared blankly. "The reporter?"

"Yes." So Renee told him about William's death, but not our newest club member? It shouldn't have surprised me, given Renee's dislike of Dahlia, but it did.

"Just part of a very long story, which includes a few more fires and a Specter impersonator who's the real person bent on killing us all in a violent manner. How about we start the story on the way home, where there are nice, happy drugs waiting for you in Medical."

"Yeah, okay." He smiled. "Let's go home."

Getting Ethan downstairs without jostling his wounds too much took some gentle maneuvering from Gage and Alicia. The backseat of the SUV wasn't the most comfortable, but it was all we had for transportation. We stepped away to give Ethan and Alicia a few private moments.

Marco slipped over to me, eyebrows knotted, tense. "I have been unable to contact Flex," he said softly. "I receive only static on my Vox."

"Did you try Dr. Seward?"

"Yes, but I cannot get through to anyone."

"I'll try mine," Gage said, then wandered a few feet down the sidewalk.

The Vox issue still worried me. It could easily be a communication systems failure, considering that a lot of the equipment hadn't been updated in at least fifteen years. Another, more dire, scenario wanted to present itself, but I was tired of a.s.suming the worst in everything. No more jumping to conclusions.

Alicia and Ethan finished their good-byes, and after a round of thanks on both sides, we got in. I slid into the backseat with Ethan and offered my lap as a pillow. He seemed both sad and determined; Alicia was a special person to him, and I was a little sorry to separate them.

As Gage climbed into the driver's seat, he shook his head at me-nothing on his Vox, either. Anxiety settled cold and heavy in my gut, and our Voxes remained silent the entire drive back to HQ.

Thirty-three.

Vanished A throng of reporters surrounded the main gate, in the same positions they had occupied for the last two days. Cameras and recording devices were thrust at the van. Questions were shouted that we couldn't hear and had no intention of acknowledging anyway.

Gage pulled up to the security box and entered our pa.s.s code. The gate swung open, its sensors allowing just enough s.p.a.ce for the van to squeak through, and closed again before the reporters could attempt a break-in. Part of me expected some sign of danger, a reason for the Vox malfunctions. The grounds, however, were silent.

Utterly deserted.

We drove around to the front of the Medical Center and parked. Gage tilted his head and listened. We waited. His preexisting frown of concentration deepened into something else.

"There's no one in there," he said. "Medical is empty."

"What?" Marco asked.

I slid forward on the seat. "How's that possible? Half a dozen people work there." Not to mention it was where we had left Psystorm and Caleb.

"I don't know. I can't hear anyone. No heartbeats, no voices. A telephone's off the hook and someone's computer is playing music, so it's not my ears. No one is in there."

"What about the other buildings?"

"I'd have to get closer."

I hated splitting up, even though it was our best course of action. We had people missing; we had to figure this out and fast. Remaining together only doubled our timetable. "Ethan, stay in the car," I said. "Gage, go check out the other buildings. Do not go inside, just find out if anyone is in them. Marco and I are going to take a peek in here."

They nodded, offering no arguments. The less they questioned my decisions, the scarier this whole leadership thing became. Ethan propped himself up into a sitting position so he could hit the horn in case of emergency. He shouldn't be here. I should have a.s.sumed the worst-case scenario and left him with Alicia. Too d.a.m.ned late to fix it now.

I squeezed his shoulder, trying to offer some silent support, and then climbed out.

Gage paused to sniff the air. "There's smoke somewhere. Just a hint of it, not a huge fire. I can't tell from what direction."

"It's okay," I said. "Just please, be careful and do not engage. I doubt our Voxes will work any better here than they did across town, so be prepared to scream if you need help."

His eyes narrowed, not quite a flinch-some look of extreme concentration. Its intensity did nothing to calm my nerves. Adrenaline surged through my veins and set my fingertips shaking.

He looked over my shoulder at Marco. "Hey, Walking Wounded, take care of each other, okay?"

"We will," Marco said. "Promeso."

Gage darted away, sticking close to the shrubs and saplings that lined the sidewalk. I watched him a moment, trying to dispel the sense that I'd just sent him off to be killed. It was an irrational fear, nonetheless present and overwhelming. Specter was here; I knew it in my heart. I also knew that despite my fear and hesitation, this would all end tonight.

"Trance?"

I nodded to Marco. "I know, let's go."

We started on the first floor and discovered nothing, and more of nothing on the second. A few computers were still on, screensavers in full swing. Whatever made everyone abandon the building happened within the last hour. We saw no outward signs of a struggle-no dropped files or scattered instrument trays. Desk chairs were pushed in neatly. They'd just vanished.

Dr. Seward's temporary office was vacant of personnel, same as the other rooms. I nudged his computer mouse and an open file appeared. He had been reading up on Dahlia Perkins. Half a dozen articles she'd written for her paper were displayed in as many windows. Fluff pieces, mostly.

On a whim, I picked up Seward's phone. No dial tone. I studied the lab tables, the floor, the stool, looking for any sign of a struggle. A spot of blood, a piece of broken gla.s.s. Some clue as to what had happened here.

"This is insane," Marco said. "Ten people do not simply vanish."

"No, they don't. Something forced them to leave." Neatly.

"And go where?"

"I have no idea." Another building, I hoped. I couldn't stand to entertain the thought that Gage hadn't picked up any heartbeats because they were all dead.

The private room where Psystorm should have been was empty, and there we found the first real sign of wrongdoing. The sheets were twisted, dangling to the floor. All the monitors were off, and the connecting wires lay tangled together. A spot of blood colored the sheet where his IV had been pulled out and dropped.

"He was moved in a hurry," I said.

Fabric rustled behind me. I turned to see Marco standing in his underwear, pulling at the surgical tape binding his fingers. Dumbfounded at the sight, I didn't react until the bandages fluttered to the floor. "What are you doing, Marco?"

"I can track whoever was here, but not like this."

"I thought you couldn't morph with your fingers broken."

"I can, but it will hurt. My fingers will still be broken." He grimaced. "My paw will be broken. We have no choice."