Hidden Pearl (18 page)

The biggest worry she had was the drug. What had he been given? Might his condition worsen? He was conscious, but seemed dazed, incapable of acting on his own.

She remembered then an article she'd read about some sort of hallucinogenic that was being used in Colombia, South America to render victims virtual zombies. She swallowed hard, trying to think what the writer had said about the drug. Could be days before the effects wore off, disorientation, memory loss, but it did wear off, that is if the dose wasn't too strong. She reminded herself his pulse was steady. Biting her lower lip, she considered her options. S.T.'s life and maybe even her own might depend on her choosing the right one.

Okay, proceed to step two. Get him someplace dry and warm. She turned the truck back onto the road and headed for town. She would find a motel room up the freeway, preferably one from some kind of national chain, less chance of the managers knowing or being connected to Soul. She wondered if she was becoming paranoid. As close to exhaustion as she was, she decided it was a possibility.  They both needed to sleep. Tomorrow maybe she'd know what they should do next. Maybe tomorrow S.T. would be able to help her decide.

#

Christine paced the spacious motel room into which she'd checked S.T.  and herself. She bent over him, felt of his forehead for at least the fourth time that day. Still no fever but he had yet to be fully lucid. He had yet to awaken enough to talk to her.

She looked down at his long, blanket-covered length. Because of his violent shivering, his completely soaked clothing, when they'd gotten there, she'd gotten off his boots and then stripped him of everything wet—which had been everything. It’s not like she hadn’t known how a man was built but there were men and then men.

His body was masculine perfection with long muscles, hard planes, and little body hair to hide the angles. She hadn’t been surprised that he would have had a beautiful body. She was more surprised by her own reaction to it.
For heaven’s sake, Christine, the man is unconscious for all intents and purposes. What on earth is going on with you?

He moaned, the sound barely audible, but she looked at his face, saw the moment his eyes opened and stared at the ceiling. She waited, uncertain if he was really aware.

He turned his head, his gaze met hers and he frowned in puzzlement. "Wh... where am I?" His voice was little more than a whisper.

"A Best Western along the freeway," she said. "Do you want some water?"

He nodded, and she brought a glass, lifting his head so he could drink it.

"Is that necessary?" he asked, when she'd lowered him back down.

'You tell me."

He levered an elbow under himself, lifting his torso with more difficulty than he'd expected. “God, what happened?"

“What do you remember?”

She could see him try to think it through. “Not much,” he said finally.

"I think you were drugged." When he sat up, it sent the covers to his waist revealing the torso she’d been trying to not think about.

When he looked at her, his eyes were no longer black. Pupils back to a more normal size.

“There was a headache. Then nothing. How did we get here?”

"To be honest, I am a little vague on that myself. I just did what I felt I had to do and that was get us both out of there."

“I wasn’t as ahead of the game as I’d thought,” he muttered lying back.

"You’ve talked a lot, mostly I think nightmares, like drug induced delusions. Do you remember any of that?”

"Geesus." He rubbed his forehead with long fingers.

"It’s hard for me to also believe it happened.”

She filled another glass of water and handed it to him, watching as he drank it. “I think a lot of water is the best thing to flush out of your system.”

“Speaking of that.” He smiled ruefully obviously realizing he was naked as he grabbed the blanket from the bed to wrap around himself. He didn’t ask her how he’d gotten that way, but he would have to know with seeing his clothing draped over a chair.

When he returned, he limped to the bed and sat gingerly on the edge of it. “Thanks for dragging my sorry ass out of there.”

 “It was obvious we had overstayed our welcome.”

“Who knew they’d get that upset at my questions,” he tried to tease.

“You did it deliberately.”

“I thought I’d get more information that way. I didn’t think they’d get that upset.” Some of it was coming back to him. “Sharon brought me orange juice. Maybe it was her own idea.”

“Is that all you remember?”

“Until I woke up here. Do you know how I hurt my ankle?”

“You had to go out a second story window.”

“Ugh. I am really sorry for this, Christine. I was stupid to go there, to drink anything while there.”

“Don’t blame yourself for that. You had to drink sometime. I’ve had their tea before and nothing happened. I don’t know what they could have thought they’d gain by drugging you.”

"I'm just sorry I got you into it.”

“You didn’t. I wanted to be there. I felt I had to go last night too. Something just said to get down there.” He reached out a hand and she came to sit on the bed beside him.

“Maybe I should have taken you to a hospital. I just wasn’t sure who to trust and your pulse was strong, breathing good.” She told him about the hallucinogenic she suspected he might have been given.

When she finished, he said, “I was a fool. I underestimated them and likely may not have been the first to do so.  I wonder what would have happened if you hadn’t gotten me out of there.”

“That’s the funny part. I can’t say I really did. I was trying to think of how to reach you and then suddenly there you were at the window and dropping down before I could do anything. Somehow you got yourself out of the room even with the drug.”

He thought then about the room and pieces were coming back to him. “It was like a voice told me to leave...” He knew then whose voice. His mother’s and then Christine’s. That was too weird to dwell on. No way could his mother have called him out of there and yet.

He managed a smile and brought her hand down to where he could kiss it. "I never meant for you to get tangled in all this."

"I know that." She stroked his bristly jaw with the back of her hand. "I thought Indians didn't need to shave."

"Maybe full bloods. Half-breeds are a mixed bag," he said, yawning.

She saw he needed to sleep. "We can talk later," she whispered. Sleep claimed him before he could form another thought.

Christine sat watching him sleep, relieved to see the more normal movements as he shifted now and then, his chiseled features relaxed but no longer slack. It had been a nightmare, but it was over, except was it? Would Sharon really do something like that in revenge without Soul’s orders? She doubted it. Were Peter Soul's minions out looking for them or glad to see the last of them? She wasn’t sure how she’d deal with the rental car or her cameras. Fortunately she hadn’t taken any photos she’d be upset to lose in case she never got them back.

When he woke again, he was ready to dress and eat the sandwich she had brought back from the small restaurant near the motel. When he'd finished, he said, "I guess the question is what now? I don’t really know anything more than before except they have drugs on the premises.”

“Nothing we could probably prove although maybe I should have gone to a hospital with you and you could have had your blood tested for what they’d given you.”

“Not sure it would help much to know. The police might think I had taken it myself.”

“Maybe. I don’t know.”

"You’ve been a caring nurse, Christine. Thank you.”  She fought the impulse to brush his dark, thick hair back behind his ears, to touch him. "I'm surprised I haven't seen you taking pictures of all this. Especially recording me falling on my face." He grinned.

"Even if I'd been so greedy for a rare photograph of S.T. Taggert laid out flat, I couldn't. I left the camera behind and my others are up in Portland."

"You mean at the compound?" he asked with disbelief.

She nodded. "It blows my mind too, but I just wasn’t thinking when I decided we’d be safer to take your Silverado. I left my rental car there too.  It wasn't until we were nearly a mile down the road that I remembered. I certainly wasn't going back for it."

"I wonder how Soul is explaining all this," S.T. said thoughtfully.

"If he is. From what I've seen, the people under him aren't prone to ask questions."

"Before all this happened," he said, "I did get to ask George a few questions."

"What did you learn?"

“Only that he’d come from Riverside."

"I wonder how many years they have been together. We can see if Soul might’ve too. The problem is I don’t think they are using their real names. It makes it tough. I don’t know how many aliases Soul has had but I’d bet he changed it five years ago when he suddenly appeared to be born."

"Well, we can try Riverside, but I agree it’s unlikely we’ll find much. If he’s always done the religious thing, then he might’ve had a group going then too, one that ran afoul of fraud laws."

"When I go back to my computer, I'll check."

"Soul has a computer. What kind of stuff do you think might be on it?"

Frown lines instantly appeared between her brows, and he knew he hadn't pleased her with his question. "What difference would it make?" she asked. "It’s there and we are not going back in there again without... Storm, tell me you’re not thinking of going back. Please tell me that you aren’t. That kind of thing they gave you, it could have made you a permanent zombie. That what you want? "

“Of course not, but I do want to know what’s going on. You know it’s possible if it was Soul that he wasn’t using it to hurt me but to influence me. There are some bits of memories of like a tape of his. It seems to be there in the background of my memory. "

"If he was trying to brainwash you, that’s even more reason to forget going back."

"I understand what you are saying logically, but Christine, if he’d do that to me, maybe he really killed both Lane and Shonna. Maybe a lot more. Can we just walk away from that—even if we could?”

“You think we can’t?"

“Lane couldn’t. That’s my bet.”

She gritted her teeth. “You deliberately set out to irritate him didn’t you?”

His smile was crooked but not enough abashed to suit her. "Anger stirs the mind. I thought maybe it would help to get through to the others, maybe get one to thinking. Nothing else had. They are like they have been brainwashed and maybe we now know how at least for some of them."

She would have argued further if she hadn't seen the tired look in his eyes. She realized that for a powerful man like S.T. what he’d gone through was humiliating. He had faith in his body, in his own ability to take care of anything; and he lost this time. It had to be hard on him. She would give him time, but she wouldn’t give up convincing him that they needed to find evidence that would send the police to investigate, not try to do it themselves.

She turned on the television, found an old movie and hoped it’d be a needed distraction, helping them both to sleep but she could see Storm’s mind was not on the flickering images.  When she turned off the television, he said, "I think I'll call Soul."

"Are you out of your mind?" She might have anticipated any action except that.