Hybrid (18 page)

She tried to close her mind to the experience, but his name continued to echo in her head. She replaced the clock on the nightstand, hoping that the insistent need to explore what she had just learned would begin to abate. It didn’t.

She turned her mind to the priest.
John Oliver
, she thought, but there was little more.
How does he fit into this?
He hadn’t been on the beach, and he hadn’t been with Reisch, but he had been somewhere, because a trace of him gently floated through her mind. Greg had mentioned that his priest had abilities similar to her own, and she had doubted him. It was clear that she’d been wrong; they were now a group of three.

She looked up at the mirror and tried to focus on Oliver, but Reisch would not be denied. He was many more times powerful than Oliver, and the small remnant of his mind that she retained after they were so suddenly ripped apart clawed at her.

He was German and purposely infecting the people of Colorado Springs while he searched for her. It was all part of something bigger, but the details were lost in a fog of half-formed thoughts and violent memories.

A need to move overwhelmed her. She suddenly had to get away from this hotel room. She looked around and was repulsed by its shabbiness. It reminded her of rooms that she had shared with her mother and brother when she was young. A powerful wave of claustrophobia washed over her. She jumped off the bedspread, certain that something was crawling up her leg, but there was only the sheet. It was Reisch. The part of him lodged in her head was spilling out and infecting her. This wasn’t the first time something like this had happened. Years earlier, when she had first started invading the minds of others, she found that if she wasn’t careful she would take something from them, a remnant of their psyche that would quietly insinuate itself into her own. The remnant of Reisch wasn’t quiet though, and it was more powerful than anything she had ever felt before. It began to crawl through her mind like some subterranean rodent. She tried to force it from her mind, but it resisted. It took several moments, but she finally trapped it and squeezed it out of existence. The effort forced her to sit back on the disheveled bed.
Klaus Reisch
is a monster
, she thought breathlessly.

She felt nauseous. He had been inside her mind, and they had just been more intimate than she had ever been with her husband. That thought nearly made her vomit.

“Why?”
she asked after her stomach had quieted down. Why was she reacting so strongly to Reisch? She had more in common with Reisch than any other living thing. The same thoughts, questions, and desires occupied both of their minds. They both had survived the same lethal infection, and then miraculously Changed into something beyond a human being. So, how were they so different?
Maybe that’s why he
disgusts me
, she thought. “Because we aren’t so different,” she said out loud.

Had the virus turned her into the female version of Klaus Reisch? Was his depravity her destiny? She tried to reject that thought, but she knew objectively that they weren’t that different. They had both knowingly taken lives, and the willful taking of a human life represented the ultimate disconnect from humanity. They were both outsiders. Reisch had made peace with that fact, but Amanda still struggled with it. A large part of her longed to be free; to embrace who she was, and live outside the restraints of society, just like Klaus Reisch.

Amanda felt Mittens stir deep in her mind, and the old cruel smile returned to her face. The “whys” didn’t really matter; she knew what Mittens would have her do. They would find Reisch, tear open his mind, and then, when they knew everything, Mittens would kill him, slowly, very slowly. The lust for blood filled her heart. Killing Reisch wouldn’t count against her promise to the Flynns. He wasn’t human anymore.

Confusion was his first clear thought. Where was he and why was he on the floor wrapped in a blanket? He tried to move, but he had managed to mummify himself quite securely, and it took a minute before he finally figured out how to extricate himself. He rolled onto his back, trying to catch his breath. The room was dark, so dark he couldn’t see a thing.
How did it get to be night?
He thought. His mind was thick and sluggish, and he slowly began to piece together what had happened. “Amanda,” he whispered. The name caused his heart to race with hopeful anticipation, but then he remembered their meeting. She was what he had hoped, but not who he had hoped. She wasn’t Eve to his Adam; she was like everyone else, unworthy; except unlike anyone else, she could hurt him. He blinked and saw blue dots. It dawned on him that the room was too dark even for night. He painfully turned his head and could only dimly make out the bedpost and tousled bed sheets. He blinked several more times, and each time, the blue dots became fainter. He turned his head the other way and looked up at the curtained window. Muted sunlight was streaming in through the cheap drapes.

“At least I’m not blind,” he said, his voice sounding normal enough. He took an inventory and found that the skin on his chest and arms was as pink and as healthy as ever, but that his right arm was lifeless. His right leg was also weak, but at least it would move. He clawed his way up to the bed, and just lay there breathing heavily from the exertion. He couldn’t begin to understand what had happened to him, or how she had managed to do it, or even why. What he did know was that he would not give her a second chance. He had come all this way to protect her from the others, and now he was going to kill her.

He fell asleep again, but didn’t dream. His mind simply shut off and began to repair itself. He lay there for an hour until the awkward position forced him to move. His right arm still refused to work, and once again, ended up beneath him. The pain in his shoulder woke him. When his eyes opened, he found that his vision was back to normal, but that his right side was still weak. His fingers still wouldn’t move, but he could weakly flex the elbow. His right leg moved, and he thought it had enough strength to bear his weight. Sliding off the bed into a semi-standing position, he braced himself with his left arm. He started to walk around the bed, but his right foot caught on the fallen bed linen. He clumsily worked his numb leg and nearly tripped himself. He managed to make it into the bathroom without causing himself anymore harm and began to collect his things. He would have to leave Colorado Springs—no, he could finally leave Colorado Springs. He hobbled around, picking up any evidence that might betray the fact that he had been there. Since he had only been at the Sheraton for two days, not much cleaning was needed. He thought for a moment. What did it matter if the authorities searched his room? They would never find him. He would be long gone before anyone even knew he had been there. His confidence bolstered and his leg growing more reliable, he finished packing.

Ten minutes later, a bag hanging from his left shoulder, Reisch limped out into the snow. A pickup truck with a plow attached to its front end was clearing the parking lot, and he had to wait for it to pass. As he stood there, while the wind and snow found ways under his long wool overcoat, he felt the mind of the police officer. He was being watched with more than just idle curiosity. He surveyed the parking lot and found the cruiser. Reisch focused on the mental connection, and with a shock almost as great as finding Amanda, he realized that the police were specifically looking for him. He saw a long line of parallel tire tracks in the snow, and a large black man trudging through them.

He was stunned by his colossal stupidity. Without a thought, he had driven from the Van Ders’ house directly back to his hotel, leaving a yellow-brick road in the snow for the police to follow. He had avoided capture and even positive identification for almost thirty years; every major intelligence agency in the world had at one time or another searched for him, never really knowing if he existed or not. He was the best at what he did—his longevity had proven it,—and now he was going to be undone by some small-town cops because of tracks in the snow. The absurdity of the situation overwhelmed him, and he laughed out loud.

The plow passed, leaving him in a cloud of snow and exhaust. The cop was waiting anxiously, hoping Reisch would get into his rental car. Reisch felt the excitement pulse through the young officer. He was eager to impress someone. Reisch waited, and the cop’s mind focused in on the face of a large black man, the same man who had followed the tracks to Reisch’s hotel. Rodney Patton was the name that played off the officer’s mind. Patton had told him to stay put, just observe and not to be a hero. Good advice, but Reisch wasn’t going to let the cop follow it.

He hobbled across the parking lot to a snow-covered sedan three cars away from the waiting officer. Painfully, he took the overnight bag off his shoulder and made a show out of laying it down next to the car. He stood for a moment, pretending to survey how much work he had ahead of him, and then with his good arm he slowly began to push the snow off the roof. His attempts were deliberately feeble, and he stopped frequently to catch his breath, his right arm hanging limp at his side. The cop watched every move, and when it became obvious that the tall, dark man needed help, he got out of his car.

The officer walked over to Reisch with a long ice scraper. “Excuse me, sir, can I help you?”

“Yes, that would be nice,” Reisch said with a New York accent. “I had a stroke a few years ago, and this damn arm ain’t good for much now.” Reisch moved to the back of the car, but the young cop skirted him and walked to the front, sweeping the long scraper through the eighteen inches of snow in long arcs. The cop was just about the same height as Reisch, but he was easily fifty pounds heavier, and in much better physical condition. Even if he had use of both of his arms, Reisch couldn’t ensure a quick and quiet kill.

The officer had cleared most of the windshield and hood, and Klaus was pleased to find a BMW underneath all the snow. The god of fate had allocated it for him to use. But first, he would have to dispose of this cop. There were two more inside, and he could just start to feel their minds, so he had to act quickly. He finished clearing off the back window and maneuvered around to the passenger side as the officer was beginning to work on the top of the car.

“I don’t think you and your family are going to get very far today,” the cop said. “Most of the roads are closed. But at least your car is going to be clean.”

“Family?” The question was out of Reisch’s mouth before he was even aware of it. The word sounded unfamiliar, and for a moment, his confusion was obvious.

“I saw the car seat. My wife and I have the same kind.” The cop motioned at the carrier strapped to the back seat, confusion now playing across his face.

“Oh, that’s for my nephew. I’m up here visiting my brother and his family. We drove up to Denver yesterday, and got back so late that I decided just to leave it for the morning.” Reisch sounded convincing, but he knew that the cop had picked up a trace of the lie. Reisch moved closer, pretending to help clear the roof. They bumped elbows, and the young cop smiled, but Klaus felt his mind darken. He was closing himself off as instinct and training began to raise the alarm that this dark man was more than what he seemed.

It was always easier taking control of an unsuspecting mind, but Reisch thought he would have no trouble with this one. He extended his mind into Brian Yaeger’s a moment before the cop asked him for some ID. He struggled briefly, but the German overwhelmed him. Reisch wasn’t interested in playing. He needed to dispose of Yaeger as quickly and as quietly as possible and then get out of this city. He needed time to recover his strength. Reisch began to squeeze the life out of the young man. Yaeger responded by grabbing his head and dropping to his knees. He howled in pain as Reisch focused harder and harder, but he wouldn’t die. Reisch began to sweat despite the cold. Never before had he had so much difficulty. His head began to hurt, and his heart was thundering in his chest. He imagined his hand closing around the cop’s brain, turning it into a bloody mess, but even that didn’t work.Yaeger finally passed out, and the screaming died away. Reisch slumped against the car, panting from the mental exertion. He couldn’t do it. A few hours earlier, he had luxuriated in the murder of George Van Der, taking his time, prolonging the old man’s agony and his own ecstasy. But now, making this simple man pass out was the best he could do. He watched the cop’s breath turn to steam in the cold, wondering what this meant. He felt exposed and vulnerable.
She has done this
to me
, he thought. A blind rage started to build in his mind as the image of Amanda flashed before him. He fought to redirect its energy; he couldn’t afford to lose control now. There were still two more cops looking for him.

He managed to clear his mind and found that the two cops inside the hotel were busy interviewing an elderly couple, asking them about a vehicle. Relieved that he had a few minutes, Reisch returned to the task at hand. He looked down at Yaeger, sprawled out in the snow between the BMW and the pickup next to it. He was concealed but not very well, and he would be completely visible after Reisch had taken the BMW. He bent down to the cop and slowly rolled him beneath the wheels of the Ford. It took longer than it should have, and a sense of urgency began to grow in him. Finished, he kicked snow over the unconscious cop and returned to the BMW. It was a long shot, but he tried the doors anyway. Fate was still on his side, and he smiled after finding the rear passenger door unlocked. He pushed aside the car seat and reached up to unlock the driver’s door. Yaeger had rolled further beneath the pickup, and Reisch could feel his mind begin to stir.