Patient Darkness: Brooding City Series Book 2 (14 page)

Brennan couldn’t move much, but he managed to inch his body out of the direct view coming in through the storm drain. Clara seemed to understand what he was doing and helped keep pressure off his shoulder as he moved.

“Your head is bleeding,” she whispered.

He simply nodded and made a shushing gesture, minus the finger to the lips. Clara mistook his pursed lips as a sign for a kiss and, despite the gray water and gunmen surrounding them, planted her lips upon his. Either way, it stopped her from talking.

Muffled voices shouted out to each other in the alley above; Brennan could only hear enough to recognize they were speaking in German. They sounded angry, though, that much was clear. None of them had heard the storm drain slam shut, or else they would have already been rappelling into the tunnel.

Clara broke off the kiss and sat with her back against the curved wall, seemingly no longer worried about dirtying her dress. She had a dazed, far-off look in her eyes, and she held her hand lightly against her stomach. Shock could be hard on people, especially those so unaccustomed to dangerous situations.

The angry German shouting devolved into errant grumbling as the gunmen started tearing apart the alley. Brennan heard trash cans crashing to the ground, and several doors were pounded by heavy fists. There was no trace of their prey.

Brennan slipped in and out of consciousness a few times, and he did not know how much time had passed until the gunmen disappeared for good. At one point, he simply opened his eyes and heard nothing but the water trickling past his head and Clara on the verge of hyperventilating.

With a Herculean effort and a groan of pain, Brennan wriggled himself into a sitting position. He looked down with clear eyes at the damage to his left arm. It was difficult to see in the dark, but he guessed it had been burned and bloodied in the car blast. It didn’t hurt anymore, which he took to be a bad sign. His other arm, however, responded to every minor movement with a plethora of painful signals, which Brennan didn’t find any more comforting.

“You’re in pain,” Clara said in a hollow voice. Her eyes were wide and fully devoted to him, but Brennan could see she had a thousand-mile stare.

“I think I dislocated it.”

“Do you want me to pop it back into place?” she asked.

Brennan had done that exact thing once or twice, and the experience never got any less painful. Also, he had either done it himself or had a skilled partner to take care of it, and Clara was definitely not a trained Sleeper. “That sort of thing only works in the movies,” he said, letting her down gently. “But thanks.”

She nodded dully and resumed staring at the wall.

Are you still there?
Brennan asked, directing the thought to the psychic Samaritan. He didn’t get a response.

The presence of someone with that kind of power was puzzling as well. They should not have been able to get inside Brennan’s head the way they had, especially when he was fully awake. Another thought occurred to him, and he briefly wondered if this was all some terrible nightmare. It would explain how a Sleeper had infiltrated his mind and—

And what, exactly? Helped you? How sinister of me,
the voice replied suddenly.
Trust me, you are awake. This is real. Also, you should see a doctor.

About the voices in my head?

That would be a good reason, though I was referring to your head wound. And that arm.
There was a pause.
And that other arm.

I’m a wreck, I get it,
Brennan thought, surprising himself with how casually he was carrying on this non-verbal conversation.
Just one question: are you a Sleeper?

No,
came the immediate reply.

Who are you?

Brennan waited several long minutes without getting a reply. He looked over at Clara, who was making a strange lurching motion.

“We need to get to a hospital,” Brennan said. “You need to get checked out as well.”

“Sounds good,” she croaked. Less than a second later, she turned her head and emptied the contents of her stomach onto the tunnel floor. Either the wine had finally caught up to her, exacerbated by all of the running around, or else she just realized how close they had been to death. She wiped at her mouth and held her head as she looked at Brennan. “Is this what it’s always like?”

“Welcome to my life, baby. Exciting enough for you?”

Clara sighed and rose to her feet. “A little too exciting,” she said. “Come on, let’s get you to a doctor.”

Friday morning held
all the promise in the world as Alex Brüding rolled out of bed.

She felt better than she had in a long time, in spite of the long night. Arthur Brennan was a much more interesting man than she had first envisioned. From the moment she touched his mind, she knew he was a Sleeper; the architecture of his thoughts was so
similar
to that of Benjamin. It was one thing for her to be told who he was, and another thing entirely to experience that intimate contact for herself.

Beneath the excitement over finally finding somebody worthy of her interest, Alex felt a bubbling anger toward Heinrich that frothed like a steaming stew threatening to boil over. She had given explicit orders that the target was not to be harmed. Or had she?

Alex closed her eyes and looked within herself. In her youth, she had imagined her mind as a long series of filing cabinets, each one filled with folders that neatly contained all of her thoughts and memories in an orderly manner that allowed her to access them at will. Somewhere along the line, she had made the upgrade to a fully computerized system.

Now, she walked among massive computer hard drives. They weren’t to scale or even technically accurate representations, but they served their purpose. Her memories pulsed like fine gemstones on the surface of each storage unit. She brought forth the memory of her rendezvous with Heinrich and replayed it.

The detective will not be killed during this operation.

Alex sighed loudly and walked into the kitchen. His methods were brutal and unorthodox, but Heinrich had stayed true to the letter of the agreement. She was honor-bound to pay him the remaining half of the money later this afternoon.

And without actually getting Brennan on the right path to catch this killer,
she thought glumly. She opened a fresh bag of imported beans, bought late last night after her subterfuge with Brennan, and started the percolating process that would bring her up to one hundred percent.

When she’d been inside Brennan’s mind, Alex had picked up more information about the murders. Tonight was the night. If she didn’t take a more active role in the investigation, in Brennan’s life personally, then somebody else would fall victim to the serial killer’s rampage. Considering that she was among a minority of those in Odols with powers, there was a distinct possibility that
she
could be the next target.

“I could always change my name, leave the country, and never look back,” she said to the cup slowly being filled with black gold. She chewed her lower lip. “Benjamin would never leave me in peace for deserting him, though. I would be just as hunted by his
Sleepers
,” she said, imbuing the last word with disdain.

That was another concern she had to contend with. Now that she was on Benjamin’s radar, Alex was unsure of what his motives would be. Her quiet and content life of luxury was compromised, and she found herself all too easily enticed by these secret bouts of espionage.

Her coffee finished percolating, and she poured some into a wide-mouthed mug. She sighed contently as she inhaled its earthy aroma. There were few things in the world more satisfying than her morning brew.

Serial killer hunting aside, today was going to be a busy one. Alex needed to have a long chat with her father over how they could treat her mother over her final few months. Her long days of suffering were inevitable; she at least deserved to feel the sun on her skin and get out of bed more than once every few weeks.

She was also obligated to pay off the remaining half of her debt to Heinrich, as well as find a way to keep her pet detective alive long enough to fulfill his purpose to Benjamin. If she held off on paying Heinrich, his men would be less likely to hunt for Brennan, waiting as they were for their cut of the payment.

That would put them on my trail, though,
Alex thought, sipping from her mug. That was an unacceptable tradeoff. Heinrich’s men would be hounds baying for her blood if she didn’t deliver the cash before the day was out.

Alex took deliberate steps into the living room and opened the drawer of the coffee table. She retrieved a cheap cell phone from inside, one of several burner phones she had purchased this week, and inserted its battery pack. She gulped another mouthful of coffee while she waited for the phone to cycle through its startup sequence.

After a few moments of perfect silence, she realized something was terribly wrong.

She could no longer hear the voices in her head. To a normal, well-adjusted individual, the absence would have been noted as a welcome relief—but Alex had never considered herself one of those people. It occurred to her that she had heard nothing from their minds since her return to the apartment late last night. The ambient noise of her neighbors’ thoughts to which she had grown so accustomed was gone, and she felt naked without her shroud of whispers. Alex closed her eyes and attempted to reach out as she always had, extending a psychic probe to touch upon their intimate thoughts.

Nothing happened.

Alex shivered involuntarily. “What the fuck?” She slammed her coffee down on the table and ran to her room. She threw on a more presentable outfit—jeans and a loose-fitting shirt—and stalked back toward the front door. After a moment’s consideration, she grabbed the burner phone from the coffee table before leaving the apartment, letting the door slam unceremoniously behind her.

It was early in the day, and she heard a few disgruntled voices respond to the noise she made. She disregarded their petty concerns. Her body trembled with fury and fear as she jabbed the button for the elevator. Its doors opened lazily, and she stabbed the button for the sixteenth floor.

By the time she arrived in front of Benjamin’s door, Alex had cooled from burning rage to simmering frustration. Still, her knuckles landed heavily on the thick wooden door, and the booming of her knocks reverberated down the hall. The door opened, and she was greeted by Benjamin’s wrinkled face sprouting from a ridiculously luxurious white bathrobe. A pair of sunglasses sat perched atop his head, and he held his folded white cane beneath one arm.

“To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit so early in the day?” he asked. His perfectly cordial tone would have sounded ironic and sarcastic coming from anyone else. Coming from Benjamin, the question merely rang with polite curiosity.

“There is something
seriously
wrong with my power,” Alex told him without preamble.

Benjamin pulled the glasses down over his milky white eyes and peered at her. She wasn’t sure what the blind man saw, but his expression darkened after a moment. “I see. Please, come inside.” He turned to allow her room to enter.

Alex stepped inside the apartment and was struck again by how dark the room was kept. Shadows clung to the walls like cobwebs and the air tasted stale in Alex’s mouth. She felt a strange chill in the air, as if the specter of death was looming just around the corner. Considering the patient in the back room, that might very well have been the case.

“May I interest you in anything?” Benjamin asked, sidling past her with fluid grace. “Coffee? Biscuit?”

“No, thank you,” she said tersely. “I need you to explain what the hell is going on with me.”

Benjamin clicked his tongue at her as he retrieved a mug from the kitchen cabinet. He poured a cup of coffee for himself. “You need to relax, my dear, and find your grace.”

“My grace?”

“Your center of balance, your calm and happy place.”

“I would be calm,” Alex said through gritted teeth, “if I knew how to fix this.
Now.
”

“Please, come join me.” He pulled out a chair for her.

Alex glared at him for a moment before remembering he couldn’t see it. Reluctantly, she accepted the offer and sat down with a wearied sigh. “When we first met, you said that I had spoken to you telepathically, that I had called out to you.”

Benjamin murmured assent as he sipped from his cup.

“That isn’t me,” she argued. “I’ve only ever been a mind-reader. I didn’t mean to call out to you, or whatever.” Alex was unable to see past Benjamin’s sunglasses as he stared at her.

“And yet you did,” he said finally. “It would seem that your power has evolved to another level.”

“Another level?”

“I have been working on a theory to explain these powers. You and I are connected, I am sure of it. Our abilities extend above and beyond those of traditional Sleepers.”

“I’m not a Sleeper,” Alex said.

“To become one would be a minor task to someone of your caliber. Untrained, unguided, you have already gained control of your ability and made it into part of your daily routine, wearing it as casually as one might throw on a cloak. I do not share in your power, but I can sense when it is in use.”

“So you can sense that I’m not using it now.”

“Precisely.” Benjamin removed his sunglasses, and from the way his eyes searched her face, Alex suddenly felt that he could see much more than his blindness suggested. “I have said before that I am a Pathfinder—”

“And that I was a Reader, yes. Whatever that means.”

He cleared his throat. “I am now reconsidering that position.”

“Meaning what, exactly?”

“Within the context of my theory, we are all connected. You, myself, even Arthur Brennan. Our unique abilities suggest a web of interconnectedness, or in my working model, a tree.”

“A tree?”

“From one trunk stem many branches,” Benjamin said cryptically. “I believe that your jump from a Reader to a Speaker is akin to a squirrel leaping from one branch to the next. Same tree, new branch.”

“Are you coming up with these terms out of thin air? Reader? Speaker?”

Benjamin smiled lightly. “There is a touch of madness to my method. Regardless, there is nothing to fear in this new power of yours. If you will pardon the pun, I believe you are merely branching out.”

Alex resisted the urge to smack him. “But now I can’t do either one!”

Benjamin idly drummed his fingers on the table. “This is a crisis of the conscience. Something disquiets your heart and mind, and until you can quell this inner turmoil, it is possible that you will be unable to access your powers again.” His fingers stopped drumming and made a steeple beneath his chin. “Fascinating.”

“Fascinating? Are you kidding me? None of what you just said makes
any
sense. I don’t have any inner turmoil, so stop projecting your problems onto me. The only reason you think I have issues is because you can’t deal with the reality that your grandson is never going to leave that bed!”

“And now we have come to the heart of the matter,” Benjamin said. He sat erect in his chair and regarded her with a calm expression. “Tell me, how is your mother doing these days?”

“If you’re trying to get me mad, you’ve succeeded,” Alex said with deadly calm.

“You believe yourself incapable of love—”

“I’ve never told you that.”

“Do you dispute it now?” Benjamin asked.

Alex remained silent.

“You feel true love for your mother, regardless of what you believe. She is alive today because of the love for her shared by you and your father. You both desperately seek a cure, yet you have conceded the fact that there is simply not enough time for her.”

“How do you know all of this?”

“I knew your father, once upon a time. We still keep tabs on him.”

Alex’s spine crawled when he said that, since it meant Sleepers were almost undoubtedly involved more intimately in their lives than she had ever known.

“The love you have for your mother is your anguish,” Benjamin continued. “Just as I grieve for my grandson, you too are suffering on her behalf. It is the curse of the living to mourn the dead and dying.”

Alex frowned. “That doesn’t sound right at all. My mother wouldn’t want us to be hurt because of her. No matter what she is going through, misery does
not
love company. She wouldn’t believe that, at any rate.”

“Do you want my advice?” Benjamin asked. “Go home and rest. Your power is like a muscle that has been pulled and stretched in unfamiliar ways over the past few days. I believe it will recover if you let it.”

“That’s it? Bed rest?”

“This is a new development, the likes of which I have never seen before. It will take time to understand more completely,” Benjamin said.

Alex stared at him, dumbfounded. “I thought you were the Pathfinder. Can’t you find the path that gets my powers back?”

“I am not all-knowing. That is—was—the power of another much younger than myself.”

“Was?” Alex echoed. “What happened to him?”

“He died before his time,” Benjamin said soberly.

Alex rose from the table and started heading toward the door. “Not very
all-knowing
of him.”

“None of us may know the manner of our deaths, nor choose the hour of our passing. We can only live in the here, in the now, with what we know and what we have been given.”

“Great,” she said. “I’ll put that on a bumper sticker.”