Dream Walker (38 page)

“You can come back at any time,” she heard him say in her head. “You just have to remember.”

She closed her eyes and continued to weep in the darkness. She stayed like that for a long time, floating in an abyss of grief and loss, until she felt numb.

“Wake up, Aislen,” she heard. Thinking it might be her father, hoping that he changed his mind, she opened her eyes. Instead, she was sprawled on her bedroom floor, her face soaked with tears and he was nowhere to be found. Her heart ached afresh.

She laid there in a daze. Aislen shook her head, trying to figure out how she had ended up on the floor. And why was her face drenched with tears?

She realized she had been dreaming, but the details of it were fading fast. All she could remember were stars—billions and billions of stars. And color, the most dazzling colors and shapes. And her father’s face. She could see him still, too, just barely. He had told her something really important, but what was it? The vision was quickly beyond her recollection’s reach.

There was a tapping sound at the door. “Wake up, Aislen!” It was her mother. “Aislen, honey, wake up and open the door.”

Aislen stood up, ungainly and off balance, and staggered toward the door. She opened it to her mother’s worried face. “Aislen, something bad has happened to Sergeant Mathis. We need to get to the hospital.”

“Sergeant Mathis? What?” she asked, shaking her head, still foggy and not understanding. “What happened?”

“I don’t know,” her mother said. “He called me from his cell phone asking for help, and then collapsed or something because he didn’t say anything else. So, I called 911.

“They just called me back and told me that they found him unconscious in his house and are taking him to the hospital. I really need to get over there and make sure he’s all right.”

Her mother’s face was creased with anxiety and Aislen realized that Sergeant Mathis was important to her—really important.

Protection.
She remembered the word out of the blue. It was something her father had said in her dream, that there would be people around to protect them. Suddenly, Aislen felt a pressing urge to get to Sergeant Mathis as quickly as possible, too.

She reached up to grab her jacket off the hook on the wall and felt her head spin.

“Mom, can you help me with this?” she asked, handing the coat to her mother for fear she would lose her balance and fall over.

“Sure, thing.” Her mother slipped the coat around Aislen’s shoulders and out of habit buttoned it up like she did when Aislen was a little girl. When she reached the top button, she stopped.

“Dear God, Aislen!” her mom said, reaching up and gently touching Aislen’s throat. “What is this?”

Aislen looked down at the stunning pendant hanging around her neck; a labyrinth of polished platinum with nine bright jewels shining in it.

Aislen looked back up at her mom, remembering.

“It’s a map.”

CHAPTER 41

“What the fuck did you just do?” Dookie yelled, flipping the visor lenses up and glaring at Raze with his big bug-eyes. “If you had just stayed out of it, Mathis would be having a massive coronary right now and out of the picture by morning!”

Raze was squatting in the dirt, looking at the empty plot where Mathis had just been, wondering if he had done enough. And, like the troll, he also wondered what the fuck he had just done. Saving people was not a part of his instincts. Especially those who got in his way or threatened his way of life. If Mathis lived, he was going to be a problem and it would be all Raze’s fault.

But who was this shit bag to point that out? Raze stood up and slowly turned to face the troll.

The tirade continued. “I don’t get it. What were you thinking—saving his fat ass? You didn’t do us any favors, that’s for sure. Now he knows that Blake isn’t really a killer, and worse, he’s confirmed that your game isn’t just a game.” Dookie shook his head and expelled an angry gasp of air. “You royally fucked this up.”

Raze was on the troll faster than the booger’s eyes could spin. He snatched him up by the collar with a rough jerk and lifted him so they could see eye to bulging eye.

“Look, midget! I don’t know who the fuck you are, but you are in
my
territory! You don’t tell me shit about what I do or how I do things.

“There are a lot of unknown players in this racket doing their fair share of fucking things up. Take
you
, for instance,” Raze punched a finger in Dookie’s face. “Who gave you any authority to come in here and who gave you permission to eliminate the sergeant?
I
sure didn’t—and I’m the only one who counts.

“You’re going to tell me how you got possession of my visors, how you know that police officer and why the fuck you are even here or I am going to kick your gnarly ass from here to eternity.”

Dookie never flinched. “Here, here, Raziel. Let me clarify things for you.” His dangling legs began elongating, stretching obscenely until two normal-sized feet, wearing a nice pair of leather loafers, planted themselves into the ash. The burlap sack Raze gripped in his fists crumbled between his fingertips, the molecules of the coarse brown fibers refashioning themselves into a pressed blue dress shirt.

Raze watched as the protruding eyes contracted back into Dookie’s skull, his green tint paled into natural, human skin tones, and a perfectly tousled mop of golden brown hair sprouted from his head. In a matter of seconds, Raze was no longer staring at a vile ogre.

He was standing face to face with Mr. T.

Raze released the shirt and stepped back. Stunned. Speechless. Of all things, he didn’t see this one coming.

“Apparently, you know me already.” Troy said, raising an eyebrow at him. “Stalking me, are you? Well, allow me to introduce myself anyway.” The handsome therapist extended his hand toward Raze. Raze looked at it, then back up at Troy. He had no intention of shaking his hand. Troy dropped it, unperturbed.

“My name is Troy Kellen. Mr. Parker was hoping we would be introduced properly, under different circumstances. Unfortunately, the situation took a turn for the worse and an intervention was necessary.”

Raze did his best to keep his confusion, and his burgeoning rage, hidden behind a stone expression.

“Mr. Parker has told me a lot about you, Raziel. None of it good, I might add.”

“How do you know Grant?” Raze asked, his voice laden with derision. Troy addressing Grant the respect of “Mr. Parker” was getting on his last nerve.

“We’ve been working closely with each other for quite some time, actually. We met while I was writing my thesis on gaming addiction. I had been playing Demesne as part of my research and became pretty accomplished.
You
may remember…I played under the tag MUTEnt. I’ve been told that it was you who brought me to Mr. Parker’s attention.”

Raze did remember. It had been over a year before. A player named MUTEnt had risen quickly through the Octaves of Demesne, figuring out the most complex tasks and objectives and breaking long-held records one after another. He was on track to achieve inclusion on the list of invincibles, which would allow him near unlimited access to the game.

Per protocol, information about any player who performed so well was to be passed on to Grant to begin a vetting process. If all went well, the player could be recruited into QGS. If he was a dud, he would be booted and blocked from the game for some trumped up terms of service violation.

MUTEnt had disappeared from the game, so Raze assumed he’d been booted. Obviously, Raze was wrong and he realized that Troy was the protégé Grant had been talking about all along.

“Mr. Parker may hate your fucking guts, Raziel,” Troy said with a sly smile, “but he listened to you. We met under the guise of me becoming a consultant for the company, but he ended up having bigger plans for me.”

Raze narrowed his eyes at Troy. “Bigger plans, huh? Such as?”

“Aw, I’m sorry,” Troy said, his smile fading into a mocking pout. “That’s classified.”

Raze blood rolled to a boil. Troy hadn’t been around QGS or Infinium long enough to pass any training levels in the operative program. He hadn’t shown any quantum awareness or used any techniques during Raze’s viewings. Troy was 3-D all the way.

“What do you mean? Classified?” Raze asked. “How do
you
have clearance for something
I
don’t? You couldn’t even get into The Stratum without my visors.”

Troy smirked. “I dunno. I’m thinking it may be because
I
have skills
you
lack, Raziel. Self control, maybe? Consistency? Uh…people skills?
Hello?

“Not everything needs to be handled from your little ghost world here, you know.” Troy flicked a dismissive hand at the surrounding city. “In the real world, I’m a sure bet. I deliver solid, tangible results.”

“I deliver
untraceable,
tangible results,” Raze argued, hating himself for feeling defensive.

“You’re a last resort, Raziel. Face it. And you are completely unnecessary if I deliver. I just so happen to be delivering a lot more than you lately, I’m afraid to say. And it has been noted. I’ve got everyone eating from the palm of my hand. Grant. The 8. And especially that sweet Aislen Walker.”

Raze restrained the reflex to punch Troy in his pretty-boy mouth. He needed to keep it together long enough to figure out what kind of game Troy was playing and how much he really knew about Aislen.

“Who cares about her?” Raze said throwing down the bluff. “She’s nothing—a nobody.”

Troy wasn’t buying it. “Oh,
you
care alright. I have no doubts about that.” Troy began to walk a slow circle around Raze, watching him with amusement.

“You have been a very bad boy, Raziel. You didn’t tell anyone about her, did you? Grant? The 8? About how she slipped through all your so-called “impenetrable” defenses and showed up here the other night? Or about how Blake remembers her—and Sergeant Mathis is asking about her? Or about how Ichiban wants to find her? All of that would make you look bad.
Real
bad.

“So because they can’t track you here and find you out, you withheld that juicy tidbit,” Troy licked at his bottom lip and pulled it between his teeth. “And she is a juicy little tidbit, isn’t she?”

Raze squeezed his hands into tight fists. A searing pain burned through his body as his muscles went rigid with restraint. He so wanted to rip the vile smirk off of Troy’s face.

Troy stopped walking and leaned in toward Raze. “Well, thanks to that dumb bitch,
I
know all about it. She practically told me everything. I know about her being here and seeing Scott Parrish die. I know that she saw you, and boy, that made an impression.” Troy snickered.

“She keeps trying to convince herself it was all just a bad dream...but did you know, she keeps having these so-called dreams? Dreams about her dear, old, dead-beat daddy? Telling her she has a gift? Did you know about that, Raziel?”

Raze clenched his teeth together until he thought they would crack and swallowed the violent desire to kill this ass-wipe. He said nothing.

Troy continued circling him, talking to himself as much as to Raze. “Ichiban really has a jones for her, too, which is amazing. It would take a year’s supply of Viagra to arouse any life in that man—but she was able to do it. I wonder why?” Troy stopped and looked at him. “Do you know why, Raziel?”

Raze looked toward the space where Ichiban was last standing. “Do you know him?”

Troy feigned surprise. “Why, yes. Yes, I do. You don’t?”

It killed Raze to have to admit that he did not. “I thought he was Grant, possessing Blake’s consciousness so he could get in here because he can’t do it himself.”

“Grant!” Troy hollered and let out a loud hoot. “Hell, no! Mr. Parker is far too squeamish about killing people. He wouldn’t want the blood of Scott Parrish on his hands!”

Raze wanted to kick his own ass for thinking that Grant was behind all this, but who else could it be?

“
That
guy, on the other hand,” Troy pointed to where Ichiban had been, “is not squeamish about anything. Twisted fuck, that one is. In fact, if he wasn’t Infinium’s enemy numero uno, he’d be my hero.”

Raze was astonished at Troy’s sociopathic tendencies. He disguised it so well under his great looks and all that magnetic charisma—something Raze had never been able to do. “Who is he, then?” Raze asked. He knew of no enemies other than Preston Reed and he knew Reed was not Ichiban.

“Sorry,” Troy said with another condescending snarl. “That’s classified.”

Troy changed the subject. “So Raziel, what’s really going on here? What’s going on with you? From what Grant has said, you are a ruthless, stone cold killer—and don’t tell him I said this, but I could get behind someone like you, over him, any day of the week. But from what I saw just now, I’m disappointed. Why did you stop me from killing the sergeant? And how come Blake isn’t tits-up by now? And what’s the deal with Aislen?”