A Perfect Darkness (22 page)

“What's going on?” she asked.

Harry Peterson, a big, muscular guy with a military haircut, jerked his head toward the door where she stood. “What are you doing here on a Saturday?”

“I have no life.”

“I told you I could fix that.” His cheeks actually reddened. He wasn't the man she wanted to fix her lonely life. Though she liked him, it was one of the subjects who had caught her attention. Any kind of relationship there would be frowned on. His expression sobered. “You shouldn't be in this wing.”

“I know. Darkwell's a hard-ass.”

Peterson smiled. “Yeah.”

She walked in, and saw that the prisoner was burning up again, feverish and delirious. He was on the bed trembling and murmuring, his eyes closed. “Boy by the pool…get him out…”

“What's going on?”

“I need to give him an injection, but he's shaking so hard I'll never hit the vein.”

She nodded to the needle that contained a milky blue substance. “What is it?”

“Something to help him.”

“Like what?”

“Not my place to say.”

“Why the secret?”

He shrugged. “Look, I'm just following orders. To be honest, I'm not even sure what's in it.”

She digested that for a moment. He was probably telling the truth. Darkwell was notoriously secretive about things.

She leaned over and put her hand on the man's forehead. “He's burning up again. We need to cool him down.”

“It doesn't matter. He—” Peterson held his words. “He'll sweat it out eventually.”

“He won't sweat it out. This man's probably got a temperature of a hundred and five.” She unbuttoned his shirt. “Help me get him out of these clothes and in the tub.”

Darkwell called Peterson a nurse, but Olivia doubted he had more than sketchy medical training. They maneuvered Lucas out of his clothing. His skin nearly burned her.

“He should be taken to a hospital.”

“Can't do that.”

“Why not? Prisoners have a right to medical treatment.”

“Not this one. Let it go, Olivia.”

She took the man's feet, Peterson took his upper body, and they carried him down the hall to a room at the end. The shower area had a musty smell. They carried him through the open room and to the far stall that held a tub. It was probably for patients who couldn't stand. The once white porcelain was now gray and stained. She ran the water as she had the last time, and they lowered Lucas in.

The guard who patrolled the hallway had followed them. Olivia said, “Look, this guy isn't even going to open his eyes, much less attack me.” She looked at the gorgeous man in the tub. He must have done something terrible for Darkwell to deny him medical care. He didn't look like a terrorist, but looks were deceiving.

The guard paid her words little attention, still hovering in the hallway.

She turned to Peterson. “You look exhausted.”

“I've been in this morbid place for ten hour shifts.” He looked at his watch. “I'm on my last hour, and all I've got to do is give him the injection, and then I was going to eat dinner and grab a snooze in the lounge.”

“Why don't you go home early? I'll take care of him.”

Peterson frowned. “I can't leave. Darkwell wants us around. He's wary of trouble.”

“He's always wary of trouble. Well, go, grab your dinner and a nap.” She looked at the man in the tub. “His name's Lucas, right?”

“Yeah. All right, maybe I will take a quick snooze. Hey, you haven't grown keen on this guy, have you? You seem to like hanging around, taking care of him.”

“Of course not.” She looked at the prisoner, with enviable cheekbones and the kind of mouth a woman might want to lose herself in. Not her, but another woman. Like maybe this Amy he kept asking for. “But I am interested in what he's done to end up here and what Darkwell's doing to him.”

Peterson shrugged. “You'll have to take that up with—”

“Darkwell, I know. He won't tell me either.” She ran a wet washcloth over the man's forehead.

“Thanks, Olivia.” As Peterson left, his footsteps echoed through the shower room and down the hall. She continued to drip water over Lucas's face, wondering what his story was.

A few minutes later she heard footsteps coming back. Didn't Peterson trust her?

He walked in, looking agitated. “Someone took my dinner. Again. This place drives me crazy, no pun intended. You don't have any crackers in your desk, do you?”

“Sorry, no. Why don't you go to that bikers' bar down the road? I'm sure they've got some kind of food there.”

Again he looked conflicted.

She said, “No one will know. Darkwell won't be back tonight. As soon as Lucas is stable, I'll give him the injection. I'm good at sticking. Go on. Eat and sleep. You look almost as bad as he does. Mr. Personality out there will keep me safe.”

Peterson nodded, though he still appeared doubtful. “All right. You've got my number in case you need me.” After another moment of indecision, he left.

She stopped the water when it just covered Lucas's body and checked his pulse. It was fleeting.

His body wrenched as if in pain. His muscles contracted, defining them sharply. “Amy. No, Amy!”

“It's all right, Lucas,” she said, trying to calm him. It wasn't, but she couldn't tell him that. His body finally relaxed and he sank back into unconsciousness. “Who is Amy? And why are you so worried about her?” She expected no answer. She moistened the washcloth and dabbed it over his face. “You must be one bad dude,” she whispered. And unfortunately for him, she thought, he was probably one dead dude, too.

“I
'm a
decoy
?” Amy shouted as Eric outlined the plan. “No way. I want to go in. Let Petra be the decoy.”

They sat around the table with a rough sketch of the facility in front of them. Eric gave her the kind of look a tired parent would give a child. “I need her hearing ability. And she's fired a gun before. Have you?”

“No, but—”

“Distracting the guards is a damned important job, Amy, so stop bitching. Have Petra sex you up like she did before.”

“I'm going in.”

“You just want to find Lucas, and what I don't need is you getting hysterical or going off when you find him dead or something.”

She crossed her arms over her chest, trying not to think about Lucas being dead. “This coming from the man who sets people on fire.”

“Stop, you two,” Petra said, rubbing her temples. “You're getting on my nerves, this place is getting on my nerves, and I just want this over with.”

He leaned back in his chair. “I'm not trying to be contrary or leave you out, Amy. We need someone to keep the guards distracted in the front while we go in.”

He had pulled up old blueprints of the original asylum on the Internet. The outbuildings had been torn down over the years. “And we need you to be ready with the car when we come tearing out. I'm going to try to find Lucas. If he's still alive, he'll probably be in the east wing where the patients were kept. Petra's going to try to find anything of value to us, records, someone's computer, whatever. I don't think there are a lot of people on-site, judging by the few cars parked in the lot.” He put his hands on the table and looked at each of them. “Ready?”

Amy's heart thudded in her chest. She nodded.

Eric went to a storage room in the far corner of the kitchen and opened it. He took out two rifles and two handguns and then pulled out boxes of ammo. She hadn't known all that was here, which was probably better. She wasn't comfortable around guns. Neither was Petra, by the look on her face, but she was resigned. So was Amy.

He said, “The people who set up this shelter armed it, too. There are eight twelve-gauge shotguns here. The .357 magnums are mine.”

“Do I get one, too?” Amy asked.

“You can't shoot,” he said, loading the ammo into a leather satchel.

“I bet I can at close range.”

He looked at his watch. “We've got ten minutes. Let's go downstairs and I'll give you a quick lesson. For emergencies only.” He met her eyes. “Just don't shoot one of us.”

She wrinkled her nose. “Don't tempt me.”

 

As soon as the sun went down, Amy, Eric, and Petra walked around the old asylum. The woods surrounding it contained the foundations of the old buildings that had once been scattered throughout the property. A tall fence surrounded the asylum itself, enough to discourage the curious but not necessarily keep out the determined. Not that Amy could imagine anyone being simply curious about the creepy, dingy building. The thought of men and women imprisoned there, as well as in their minds, was disturbing. The thought of Lucas imprisoned there was horrifying.

The asylum was a wide building, with a center portion deeper than the two wings on either side. The entrance was simple, and inside they could see a reception desk and an armed guard. The left wing sported large windows with curtains, some of the rooms with lights on. The right side had small windows, and these were high up.

Amy said, “Lucas said his room had a window but it was blocked.”

They moved around to the back of the building.

Eric said, “I wish I could take a look.”

They had agreed it would be better if he didn't remote view. They didn't want to alert their enemy, and he needed all of his strength.

Amy pointed at a window in the middle of the wing. “It's blocked out with wood. There's another one at the far end.”

Eric held the binoculars to his eyes. “He's got to be in one of those. Or at least that's where he was.”

Pain lanced her. She had to believe he was alive, though Eric kept reminding her of the unlikelihood of
that. But Lucas's words about dying came back to her, the ones she'd chosen to ignore:
Dying is better than being here. I'm not afraid to die.

She suspected he was suffering far more than he let on. Trying, once again, to protect her. He couldn't protect her heart from shattering, though.

They continued to trek around the perimeter, staying in the shadows of the woods. A light burned in two windows of the far corner of the west wing. Petra tuned in to see if she could hear anything but shook her head.

The scrape of shoe against concrete froze them. One of the two guards walked toward the fence. Amy held her breath. Had he heard them? She could only see his silhouette, the lights in the parking lot casting him in shadow. When he got to the fence, he reached inside his coat. Was he calling for backup? Getting a weapon? His glow was hard to discern from a distance. Normally if someone were agitated or impassioned, their glow would flare out, but these men were trained to remain calm. She could tell, however, that neither guard was an Offspring.

The flame ignited at his chest level. Both Amy and Petra jerked around to look at Eric, who raised his hands and then nodded toward the man. The flare of a lighter sent relief through her in more ways than one. The guard walked slowly along the fence until he reached the far corner, then returned along the same path.

“Carl!” a man called out, and the guard near them walked toward the front.

They tensed again. Now they wondered if the other guard had seen something. The two men converged at
the center of the lot, and Petra aimed her ear at them to listen.

Eric said, “You don't have to do that. You hear them in your head.”

“Shh.”

Another light flared and the second man lit his cigarette. They spoke for a few minutes, laughing about something, then parted to continue their patrols.

“All right,” Eric said. “Time to get in gear. Amy, you ready?”

She nodded even as her gaze returned to the two blocked windows. She wanted to go inside and look for Lucas. Instead she was wearing a little black dress and a ruby necklace.

They made their way around to the east side again. They heard noise at the front entrance. Laughter. Distance voices. Petra tilted her head.

Two people in coats walked out and toward the parking lot. Both had a casual glow…of muted colors. A few minutes later a car started and pulled around to the front gate, where one of the guards let them out.

Petra said, “It was a man and a woman.”

“Offspring,” Amy said.

Eric watched the car's taillights disappear down the road. “Two of them.” He looked at Petra. “What'd they say?”

“He said he was glad to get out of there for a while but they had to be back soon. When they walked closer to the car…” Her expression was rigid, her gaze still on the place where the two had been. “He told her that he'd try to lock onto me when they got back.”

“We don't have long,” Eric said. “Let's move.”

Amy watched them get in position as she walked back to the car they'd appropriated and was now parked off the road where no one would see it. Alone, she pulled out the small note with some cash tucked inside and slid it beneath the front seat. The note read:
Sorry for any damage to your car.

She took a swig from the bottle of tequila, dumped part of it out in the grass, and got behind the wheel. “Here goes.”

A few minutes later she was swerving down the road leading to the asylum. The tires screeched as she slammed on the brakes just before the gate entrance. The car then swung out of control for a few seconds before coming to a stop. The guard ran over but stayed within the fence.

“Ma'am, are you all right?”

She feigned a disoriented look. “Who put the fence in?” she screamed, a hysterical edge in her voice. “When I left a few hours ago, there wasn't a fence!” She got out of the car, her body like rubber. Her feet were bare since sneakers would have looked strange. She blinked at the building as she tugged down her dress.

“I don't know where you think you are—”

“The Hyatt, of course.”

The guard was probably in his thirties, and as she got close, he winced at the liquor on her breath. “Ma'am, this is a government facility.”

The other guard came over, too. “What's going on?”

“Oh, God.” She slapped her hand over her mouth, trying hard not to let her gaze stray to the right where she saw a dash of movement. “Where am I? I'm lost!
First my boyfriend, who I flew down here with, blows me off, and now”—she jerked around, panic in her expression—“I don't know where I am. And I think I'm going to get sick…” She wobbled, and they quickly backed away. “I'm so dizzy.” With a cry in her voice, she said, “I had too much to drink.” She slumped to the ground.

“Hell,” the first guard said.

That's when the smoke alarm went off. Thank God they still worked. Eric was worried that with the building being so old they might not.

Both men raced toward the entrance.

She was hoping they'd have opened the gate first so she could run in, too. But, damn it, her job was to be the getaway driver. She got back in the car, adrenaline shooting through her body, and bounced in her seat, wringing her hands.
Please let them find Lucas.

 

Petra wanted to stay with Eric. His job was to find Lucas, and she wanted to find him, too. She couldn't bear the thought of Lucas being dead, and every time Eric tried to ready them for that possibility it cut her to her core. She knew that was why he'd given her and Amy other jobs. What would she do if she found dead the boy she'd loved since almost forever?

She pushed away the thought and watched Amy do her number while she waited in the bushes near the front entrance. When the alarm went off, she jumped.
Here I go.

The outside guards ran to the entrance, and someone inside unlocked the door. “There's a fire in the back hallway! Help me get it out. The sprinkler system hasn't kicked on.”

No one bothered to relock the door. She slipped inside and ducked behind the big reception desk. Smoke drifted in, along with an acrid smell. Men shouted, shoes squeaked on old linoleum floors. A fire extinguisher hissed. Not much time. She surveyed the area. The fire had started straight back from the desk. To the left she saw a darkened room with cafeteria tables, and past that another hallway led to the west wing. Directly to her right were offices. Bingo.

She darted down the hallway and ran into the first office. It was neat and feminine, with a vase of flowers on the desk. Knowing that two men ran the program, she moved on. The next office was empty but for a broken desk and credenza. She ran to the next one. Papers and pencils littered the desktop. She opened file drawers looking for anything relevant but found nothing. The last office looked more promising. Through the window in the door she saw two monitors, one showing vital signs and another that showed a room. She turned the knob. It wouldn't budge.
Damn!

“Find another extinguisher!” a man called.

Footsteps echoed down the main hallway. She pulled out the pin Eric had given her and inserted it into the lock.

“There's one over by the offices!” someone yelled.

She looked up. An extinguisher was mounted on the wall at the end of the hallway. Within her sight.

Within sight of her.

She ran to the opposite door. An empty room, no place to hide. She ran to the next door and opened it. This room was filled with hiding places: cabinets, a desk, shelving.

Footsteps just around the corner.

She dashed in and closed the door just as a man yelled, “Found it!” Wedging herself beneath the desk, she pulled the chair as close as she could. A second later someone opened the door.

 

Eric worked on the lock by the side entrance. Somewhere inside he heard a man shout, “Get out! There's smoke coming down the hallway!” Then the alarm went off. He just about had the lock picked when the door flew open. He stumbled backward but caught his balance. A woman with long dark hair rushed out. Then she saw him. Before she could scream, he decked her. She fell to the ground in a heap.

He ran in and ducked into the first room on the right, the one with the lights on. It reminded him of his high school locker room, with its little green tiles, cruddy drains, and the smell of sweat and mildew. His footsteps echoed as he followed the light to another room. A large therapy tub sat off to the side with a chair next to it.

Lucas was in the tub. In his briefs. His head was tilted back, his eyes closed, his hair plastered to his cheeks. He knew Lucas wasn't relaxing; his face was too slack for consciousness. He ran over, dropping to his knees as he tapped Lucas's face. “Hey! It's Eric. Come on, man, wake up!”

Lucas murmured.

“You're going to make this hard on me, aren't you?”

Lucas slumped farther into the tub.

“Shit.”

He pulled Lucas up by the shoulders to get a good grip on him. Or the best grip he could get on a wet body. A deadweight body. But not dead. He didn't let
himself feel relief yet. With a groan, he lifted Lucas out of the tub and over his shoulder. Water sluiced down over him. He lost his balance. Regained it. He walked back through the shower, ready to encounter someone who might stop him. He hoped the woman was still out cold. He peered into the hallway. Smoke drifted like the ghosts this place probably had. He heard voices, but not frantic ones. They had the small blaze under control.

Then he heard a voice, muffled, accompanied by a banging sound. “Hey! Let me out of here!” It came from two rooms down the hall.

No time to investigate. He headed to the exit door. The woman was indeed still out. He stepped over her and then had a most disturbing thought: how was he going to get Lucas over the fence?