Hostage (11 page)

“Trouble.”

“I’ll say. We haven’t found any psychic capable of the sort of mind control Jacoby must have used. That would take a
lot
of power. Probably a lot more than Jacoby ever had a hope of mastering, whether he realized it or not. That kind of power would have had no trouble getting inside him, and it’s more than likely taken hold of him by now.”

“You’re saying in hardly more than two weeks, he could have gone from controlling, rather benignly, the minds of two agents to being . . . possessed . . . by some negative energy powerful enough to control
him
?”

“It’s possible. Maybe even likely. His behavior up here is clear evidence something unusual is going on with him. Whether it was here or he brought it with him and it broke out once he got here, that darkness is nothing but negative. Maybe even evil.”

Curiously, Luther said, “You believe in evil as an actual, physical force?”

“Oh, yeah.” Her voice remained calm, her eyes serene. “And the thing is, we have more to worry about than what it’s doing to Jacoby. There’s also you. You have that cracked shield. You’re vulnerable because you have a new ability not under your control. At all. You have an open door. The darkness, the evil, up there could be very bad for you.”

SIX

“What are you doing here?” Hollis repeated, her voice a little louder but still low. “You’re one of Diana’s spirit guides, not mine.” She frowned. “I don’t even have guides.”

The spirit who in life had been a young girl called Brooke shook her head. “Diana has lots of spirit guides; she needed them to get through what she had to in her life. But I was there last time because of the situation, not because of her. Your team was still fighting Samuel, and you needed my help.”

“Sure that wasn’t a little bit of vengeance on your part? I mean, he was directly responsible for your death.”

Brooke’s young face appeared thoughtful. “You know, there really isn’t much of a need for revenge or even justice once you get here.”

“Here?”

Brooke smiled.

Hollis didn’t waste a breath for a curse. “And now?”

“You wanted to learn how to handle being a medium. I’m going to help you do that. At least for a while.”

“Why?” Hollis asked, never accused of being indirect.

Brooke seemed to hesitate, then said, “Bishop and Miranda aren’t wrong to be . . . concerned about you.”

Hollis hugged her upraised legs a little tighter. “Too much going on inside my brain, huh?”

“Let’s just say the energy is becoming . . . palpable.”

“Meaning?”

Brooke said slowly, “The only time you—unconsciously—used a conduit was when you helped Diana. Reese was there, touching you, and because you were so tired, and the need was so great, you drew on his strength without being consciously aware of it.”

Hollis moved uneasily. “I wish you hadn’t told me that.”

“You already knew.”

“Okay, maybe. But not for sure. And I don’t like it. Bad enough I’ve needed him as an anchor to escape Diana’s gray time. I don’t want to be someone—something—that feeds off others.”

“You can’t look at it that way.”

“Oh, can’t I?”

“No. All his life, Reese has had extra energy, at times almost too much to contain. You’ve noticed it yourself, that tension you’ve sensed in him. The hair-trigger alertness. He worked hard to contain it; it’s why he has that unique double shield of his, and why the surface of him almost always seems so calm. It’s also one reason he joined the military, to have a strict focus, a rigid routine, and a high degree of physical activity to help burn off excess energy.”

Hollis felt almost as if she were eavesdropping, learning things about him Reese wasn’t the one telling her, but somehow she couldn’t ask the spirit to stop. Something inside her told her that she needed to hear this, now, and that Reese would be slow to tell her—if he told her at all.

“Bishop saw that excess energy
and
Reese’s ways of dealing with it. Because of the experiences of other agents, he thought there was probably a better way. Better for Reese.”

“And better for me? But if he has too much energy, and I have too much energy, then— Well . . . bang? Too much energy collides and both of us stroke out or worse?”

“If the two of you were just trying to combine energies, especially without a powerful emotional connection, that’s probably what would happen.”

Hollis narrowed her eyes and stared at Brooke, but the spirit remained serene.

“But Bishop believes that instead of merely combining your energies, both of you can act as conduits, channeling energy safely away from yourselves at need. You did it helping Diana—by channeling not only your energy but some of Reese’s as well.”

“You said it yourself: That was a onetime thing, pure instinct driven by need.”

“But successful.”

Hollis thought about it for a minute. “You didn’t just casually drop in that little item about a powerful emotional connection, did you?”

Brooke smiled.

“Look, whatever we—he said during a difficult and exhausting point in an investigation, the truth is that we’re partners. And that’s all. There isn’t an emotional connection.”

“In just about five minutes,” Brooke said, “Reese is going to walk through that door. Not because he heard you talking, but because he feels that you’re awake and upset.
That
is an emotional connection. Like it or not, the beginnings of something potentially much more powerful already exist between the two of you.”

Hollis glanced toward the connecting door, then unconsciously lowered her voice even more. “He’s a natural caretaker, that’s all.”

“Actually, he isn’t.” Brooke looked thoughtful. “Probably as a consequence of struggling all his life to contain all that energy, even his emotions turned inward. Oh, he’s an honorable man and a responsible man, which made him an excellent officer in the military. And makes him excel at undercover work. But he could probably count on one hand the people he’s truly cared for in his life—and most of those would be recent adds.”

“Look, I don’t know what it is you expect me to do.” Hollis didn’t even like having this knowledge; it made her uncomfortable. Assuming any of it was even real.

“Just . . . keep an open mind.”

Hollis stared at her. “I’m a medium talking to the spirit of a girl who was murdered by an insane preacher bent on ruling the world—after he destroyed it with his very scary and evil psychic abilities. I see auras. I can bring myself pretty much back from the dead and heal others at least to a degree. My friends are telepaths and seers and other mediums, and I know about and can visit—sometimes against my will—a gray place that’s probably limbo or purgatory but definitely an elsewhere, and is really, really cold and creepy. All of that can be defined as beyond normal, and I believe in it all. I’ve experienced it all. If I were any more open-minded, my brains would fall out.”

* * *

WHEN COLE FOUGHT
his way back to consciousness, it was to hear a low, rumbling sound that was at once strange and familiar. And to smell something equally both strange—and familiar.

He managed to sit up, to swing his legs off the cot. He lifted his hands to rub his eyes but stopped short of touching himself because the smell was overpowering. He blinked and tried to focus on the very dim light of dawn coming through the cabin’s windows and the even fainter reddish gleam of embers in the fireplace.

That was why his hands looked red.

Wasn’t it?

He fumbled for the kerosene lamp on the rustic coffee table and fumbled even more to get a match from the box beside it and light the lamp.

That low rumbling sound. What
was
it? It made the hairs on the back of his neck stand out.

And the smell made his stomach churn.

He was finally able to light the lamp and adjust the flame until its yellowish light brightened the room, managing not to actually look at his hands until it was done. Then, a wordless dread inside him, he looked.

It hadn’t been the fireplace light that made his hands look red.

They were stained red. His hands, wrists, halfway up his forearms, stained red and stinking of something metallic that was familiar in an odd way and explained why his stomach churned. Flashes of memories mixed with a primal instinct.

Blood.

His hands were covered with dried blood.

Baffled, fearful, he stared at them for a long moment, until the low rumbling sound again drew his attention. He looked up, around the room.

Their eyes weren’t red anymore, but his dogs were all tensely awake, staring at him.

And growling.

* * *

BROOKE WAS SMILING
faintly. “Okay. Just so you . . . don’t lose sight of that. Expecting the unexpected should probably be your mantra.”

“I thought that was some things have to happen just the way they happen.”

“The SCU mantra. And Haven’s, really. I guess being ready for the unexpected should be your personal mantra.”

“God knows it fits.” Shaking her head, Hollis said, “Well, everything else aside, I don’t know what it is you expect to happen here. Anna wants to communicate with her dead husband. Maybe I can help bring that about, or maybe I can’t. Wouldn’t want to tell me which it is, would you?”

“That would be—”

“Against the rules, yeah. Thought that would be your answer. Well, then, what about the bright light. Can you tell me—”

Brooke was shaking her head. “All I can tell you about that is some people see it when they cross over and some people don’t.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know. I suppose because every experience is unique.”

“Did you see it?”

“No,” Brooke replied readily. “But I haven’t really crossed over yet. Things to do first. Mediums to help.”

Hollis sighed her disappointment but wasn’t surprised. The universe, they had discovered, seldom made things easy for them. Which rather begged the question . . . “Why help me?” she demanded. “If I’m one of the things you need to do before you can move on . . . there must be a reason.”

Her tone innocent, Brooke said, “I’m just following orders.”

“From?”

Brooke smiled. Again.

With another sigh, Hollis said, “Not going to be
too
helpful, huh?” Then she frowned. “Okay, if you won’t tell me why me, then tell me why now. We aren’t on a case. Like I said, I’m just trying to reach some poor woman’s husband so she knows he still exists in some kind of life after this one.”

“You really believe that’s the only reason you’re here?”

“Isn’t it?”

“Remember the mantra. The SCU and Haven one. That bit about being taught that some things have to happen just the way they happen?”

“Well, yeah, but . . .” For the first time Hollis realized that the SCU mantra might encompass more than just investigations.

Hollis stared at Brooke for a long moment. “Diana warned me about spirit guides. How cryptic you guys can be. Usually are. And how remarkably unhelpful for, you know, guides. You might want to look up that word. Or tell your boss to.” She reflected, then added, “Well, ask. Not tell.”

Brooke’s smile faded. “I will tell you that there’s more in this house than you came here expecting. A lot more. You need to be careful. Very, very careful. Don’t open the wrong door or hold any of them open for too long; you won’t like what might come through. I’ll be around, Hollis.”

“Wait, what—”

Brooke vanished, and in almost the same moment Reese appeared in the doorway, wearing a robe and seemingly wide awake.

It occurred to Hollis that she’d only ever seen him in two states: wide awake or dead asleep. He probably didn’t even have an in-between.

“Hollis? You okay?”

“Just tell me I wasn’t broadcasting my dreams.”

“As far as I know, you weren’t. I didn’t pick up anything last night once you went out like a light after your shower. And nothing now except a . . . general unease.”

She stared at him, wondering if he remembered her sleepy invitation to join her. Wondering if that had been only her imagination.

Surely it was that.

Surely.

“Then why are you awake?” she asked finally.

“I usually wake about this time in the morning.”

“Before dawn?”

“Old habits.”

Military habits, she thought, but all she said was, “Well, I don’t think I’m up for the day. I think I’ll go back to sleep until a decent hour.” If she could do that, after Brooke’s very unsettling warning.

Reese didn’t seem surprised or disturbed. “Sounds like a good plan. I’ll shower and shave, and maybe do a little exploring.”

She started to warn him about all the spirits, then remembered he wouldn’t be troubled by them. “Okay. If I’m still asleep when they usually serve breakfast around here, wake me up, will you?”

“No problem. I’ll see you later.”

He turned and retreated back into their shared sitting room and from there, presumably, to his own bedroom and his shower.

Hollis stared after him for a long time, trying not to think because she didn’t want to broadcast. It was hard, though, not thinking. When there was so much on her mind. So many questions.

And worries.

She had known for a while that Bishop and Miranda were concerned about her, about the way she kept acquiring “fun new toys” of the psychic variety seemingly with every case. And when those two worried . . . well, they didn’t worry over trifles. Nobody had to tell Hollis that the human brain was both exceptionally powerful—and, conversely, fragile. Like every other organ in the human body, it had its limits.

Unfortunately, nobody really knew what those were.

Yet.

But everybody who counted was pretty damned sure that Hollis was pushing limits way, way too often.

Would she be pushing yet another limit if she—she and Reese—found a way to channel excess energy? Or would that help somehow?

No way of knowing without trying, which seemed to be very much the norm in Hollis’s life.

And now here was Brooke warning her to be careful, telling her without saying very much at all that there was reason to be wary in this house, wary in doing this relatively simple exercise in being a medium that was not supposed to be dangerous.

Hollis lay back on the bed and pulled the covers up around her. She felt cold, and uneasy, and just a little bit scared.

Just a little bit.

* * *

LUTHER SAID, “WE
all struggle with our abilities. We live with the potential dangers of using them. It’s just . . . possibilities we accept. And I came here to do a job.”

“You’ve done that.”

“Found Jacoby, yeah. But . . . there’s more to it.”

“Is there?”

“You wouldn’t be here otherwise.”

“Well, my assignment is a bit different. I need to understand just what kind of psychic he is, assuming that’s how he escaped. And I have to try to get a handle on that energy all around him.”

“You know it’s there. You know it’s negative. What else do you need to know?”

“Everything else we’ve been talking about. How strong is it. Whether it’s coming from him or something else. Whether he’s in control—or it is. If the source is the area somehow, then there’s at least an even chance its effects on Jacoby would lessen, or even disappear if we could get him away from here.”

“A chance. Not a certainty.”

“No. Depending on whether he was a latent, or just unusually vulnerable to the effects of energy, whether he’s using it or it’s using him, he may have changed permanently. I’m sure you know as well as I do that psychics rarely lose abilities or the strength of abilities once they have them, though some kind of trauma has been known to affect, even destroy, abilities. But we really don’t have much data on what might happen if a psychic’s abilities were created or at least strengthened by an external source. Especially an ability apparently triggered or created by negative energy.”