Psycho Within Us (The Psycho Series Book 2) (36 page)

Slowly, he turned back around in his seat, and took the right.  They drove in silence, moving away from houses and swishing past closed storefronts.  Everything looked closed for business.  Then, there was a break in the buildings on the left side of the road, and they could see the river.  Miass River, presumably.  There were no lights out on
it, no boats trolling at all: it was frozen solid, just like the little girl had said it would be.

There were no toll booths, no gates of any kind, at least not on the roads.  However, there w
ere plenty of chain-link fences topped with razor wire that cut off entry to the main driveways leading down to the docks.  The docks were close together, just as Kaley had said, and they were mostly cast in deep, deep darkness, with only a few lonely lamps left on to illuminate empty sections of the cargo areas in a ghostly suffusion of orange.

At each dock, there were stacks of mostly wooden crates, lots of them half covered in blue tarps.  There was also a small dock house at each one.  “Get the kid to take a look at this.  Hey, kid!” he shouted.  The boy gasped, and looked fearfully at Spencer’s eyes in the rearview
mirror.  “Is this what ya saw?  Any o’ this look familiar?”

Spencer
watched the boy get up slowly, peek out the window.  He heard him sniffling.  Then, Kaley said, “He’s nodding
yes
.”

Spencer switched off the Subaru’s headlights well before approaching the first of the docks.  He even parked, got out, and kicked the tail lights, smashing them to pieces before hopping back inside.  They trundled slowly along in silence.  The boy was now lying down in the floor in the back, possibly sleeping, possibly wishing he was dead.  Spencer left the boy’s emotional control up to Kaley’s various
skills for the moment, and scanned the dock.  He stopped when he spied what he was looking for: a camera, mounted at the top of a dark lamppost, aimed right at the front gate.

Driving past it, he said, “I’m gonna stop the car up here, an’
you’re gonna get out an’ go for a little looksee at each o’ these docks and dock houses.”

“What?  Why me?  What can’t you—”  She cut herself off.  “Oh, right. 
Because I can pass through walls.”  Kaley snorted.  “I get it.  That’s why you kept him.  To use him as leverage so I have to go in and be your little spy.”

“You’re gettin’ sharper
, the longer you stay around me.  Makes me so proud,” he said, wiping away a phantom tear.  “Here’s a tip for future reference.  It’s called resource management.  Use what ya got while ya got it.  Figure out what your resources are, an’ use ’em to the greatest efficacy.”  He looked at her in the rearview.  “That’s another word for
efficiency
.”  He smiled.  “See?  Every moment you’re around me is instructive.”

She only glared at him and looked away.  Then, after looking over the first dock house for a moment, she said, “Shit!”

“What is it?”

“The bell just rang.  Time for third period.”

“So?”

“So, I’ve been down here in the library for all of Mr. Boulier’s class.”

“So?” he persisted.

Kaley sighed.  “I can’t stay down here all day without him or someone else e
ventually going to the principal or vice-principal and having them come look for me.”

“Then you better move that black ass,” he said, “don’t wanna get detention.  Or in-school suspension. 
Hey, here’s a fun question, what the
fuck
does this have to do with you goin’ in there an’ doin’ what I need doin’?”

Kaley looked at him.  “Is it heavy?”

“Is what heavy?”

“That massive fucking ego you’re burdened with lugging around.”  Spencer smirked.  He actually thought that was pretty funny. 
At the same time, it smacked of a test, and just as he was about to remind her of her obligation to Peter, she said, “Don’t worry, I’m going.”  Then, all at once, the little girl turned and pushed her way out the door.  It was a little confusing to watch, and plenty fascinating.  It wasn’t like anything he’d seen in the movies, it…it was far smoother than that.  She just went through the door, soundlessly and without fuss, as if the door was an illusion cast in the air and she was just passing through a flimsy layer of light.

Spencer
gave her an imperious wave.  “After you,” he said to himself.  Kaley walked around the front of the SUV, which had to be out of habit because there was no reason she couldn’t just walk
through
it, and then she hustled on over to the chain-link fence and passed straight through it without delay.  Spencer also found it interesting to watch snowflakes not collecting on her shoulders or in her hair, only passing through her.

Despite being an apparition, Kaley still appeared quite solid, even if her walk was kind of like skating, and so Spencer could make out her dark shape as she made her way down a short snow-covered
embankment, and then behind the first row of crates down at the quay.

In the back, the boy whimpered.  Spencer realized that not only would a small child be missing the only human that had shown him any love or respect in the past several months, but the farther Kaley got from him, the dimmer her empathic power over the boy would be.  “Relax, kid,” he said.  “Kaley’s comin’ back soon.”

At first, Spencer thought nothing about what he’d just said.  Then, something struck him while watching Kaley disappear into the night.  He’d said the words almost warmly.

Spencer smiled.  Just as he was excellent at learning new skills whenever it advanced his cause, and just as he had proven to be excellent at absorbing the customs and behavioral mannerisms of those around him so as to blend into their world and gain their trust, it appeared he also knew how to imbibe maternal tones and words.

The boy sniffed again.  Spencer looked back at him.  The boy had started trembling.  It was very rough trembling. 
Ah, shit
.  He twisted around in his seat, searched for the little blue bag before finding it in the floorboard.  He snatched it up, opened it, and sifted through the contents for the insulin pens.  He found a few, as well as a vial of Lantus, which was a fast-acting insulin.  There was also lisinopril.  Spencer had known a guy in prison who was diabetic, and if he remembered correctly, lisinopril was used to lower blood pressure and control liver enzymes.  “Here, ya little fucker.  Take this shit.”  He held the insulin pen up, and reached for the boy.  Peter recoiled, and Spencer snarled.  “You wanna fuckin’ die?  I don’t need or want ya around, but Kaley does an’ she’s my…well, fuck, I guess she’s my partner, ain’t she?”  The boy didn’t move.  “You ever play Simon Says?”  Surprisingly, the boy nodded, though with supreme mistrust.  “Good.  Simon says ‘
Get the fuck over here!  Now!
’”  The boy’s whole body jolted, but slowly, ever so slowly, he obeyed.  “That Simon’s a sonuvabitch, ain’t he?”  The boy said nothing.

After Spencer had given the kid
his injection, he told him to sit back in his seat and take whatever usual dose of lisinopril he usually took.  The boy couldn’t shrink away from him fast enough, and went back to his fetal position in the seat.  He was whimpering more, but trembling less.

“Don’t you worry, little man,” he said, turning the radio all the way down and cracking the windows just a tad so that he might hear someone approaching.  “Kaley’s not gonna leave you.  You can count on that.” 
I know I am
.

At school, the library door opened, and in came three kids, all headed directly for the computers on either side of her.  Kaley didn’t think much of it at first, but then came two more, and now four. 
Damn it, their third-period class must have computer lab time scheduled today
, she thought.

Kaley couldn’t stay here very long.  Whoever these kids’ teacher was would surely suspect something when she saw this girl here, at one of the computers that one of her students could be using.  The teacher would get inquisitive, and then…
There might be trouble
.

Kaley needed to return to class.  She figured she was done with the computer for the moment, anyway. 
So, she stood up, pushing her chair away and making eye contact with no one—for some reason, she felt severe guilt, like she’d committed some crime—and started back to Mr. Boulier’s classroom.  With any lucky, she wouldn’t get a tongue lashing, a visit to Principal Manning’s office, or a phone call home to her mother.

Meanwhile in Chelyabinsk, she was hustling down a hill, sliding much as she would if she were actually there, down the packed, slick snow.
  And sometimes, just sometimes, she could almost feel her feet leaving the ground.  As a matter of fact, she believed this might’ve been going on the whole time she’d been in this form, but so gradual was the process she hadn’t noticed until just now. 
I’m floating
. 
Sometimes even flying
.

The cold!
  The cold still affected her.  It made her shiver, but only in the Siberian world; only her avatar there could see, hear, and smell that particular environment.  Yes…yes, the
smells
.  Spilled oil and gasoline on the planks, something that someone had recently neglected to clean thoroughly.  All her senses worked but that of touch—she met a little bit of resistance passing through things, but like pushing through pudding, once on the other side, it was smooth sailing.

It was strange to experience these things in one body, and yet not to be experiencing them at all in another.  At CMS, she was warm and cozy, the cold winds of Russia affecting her none whatsoever.  How was this possible?  How was any of it possible?

The one thing that both worlds shared was that ankle-deep, sometimes knee-deep watery film that coated most surfaces, especially the ground.  It tumbled down the steps she was climbing up to Mr. Boulier’s classroom, swirling around her feet and creating little eddies.  At the moment, not much was swimming around in it all.

Maybe he’s right
. 
Maybe they are looking for Shannon now
.  It was a disturbing thought, and she fought to find logic against it, but it made a lot of sense…and Spencer’s instincts were usually right.  What could she do about it, though?  Even if she ditched school and ran over to Cartersville Elementary, what could she do to defend Shan?

The filmy, foaming water that moved all around the docks was quiet, as well.  Kaley paused a moment to look out across the frozen Miass River, and for a moment was transfixed by the foaming water she perceived to
be painted on it and sometimes hovering over it.

The snow was coming down as thick as exploded pillows, and the angry wind was whipping it about in all directions.  Dipping behind one stack of crates after another, Kaley made it halfway to the first dock house before she got the idea to check inside
one of the crates.  Experimentally, she pushed her face through, and looked inside, but of course found only darkness. 
Oh, right, no lights inside a closed crate
. 
Stupid
. 

She pulled her face back out, and just as she did she felt someone approaching.  A lone someone
…filled with emotions like any person, the most predominant feeling neglected and unappreciated.  Feelings of inadequacy, wanting more out of life but kept from accomplishing much because of certain physical constraints…a body image problem…and a need to find warm human companionship before the night was done.

Kaley sensed a sludgy mind, not unlike Dmitry’s and Olga’s and Mikhael’s.  Sexual cravings?  Yes, almost certainly
.  A view of women as second or third-class citizens?  Definitely.  She felt this person’s whole being vibrating the strings of her web close by.

T
hen there came a beeping noise.  Kaley peeked around the stack and spotted a single forklift, operated by a large man in a heavy parka, the fur hood pulled up over his head and tied tight around his chin, a scarf up over his lips and nose.  He was dropping off a pallet that had four large steel barrels tied down.  The side of each one had the universal symbol for flammable contents: bright-red square with a burst of orange-and-black flame.

The
forklift operator with the body image problem parked for a moment to answer his phone.  He carried on a conversation for thirty seconds then put the phone back in his pocket and turned towards Kaley.  Without thinking, Kaley passed into the stack of crates in front of her, into total darkness, and listened.  Outside, she heard the forklift grumble by.  Inside, however, she could hear the water trickling off the inside walls of the crates—she wasn’t sure how it worked, but it seemed that, for some reason, the film that separated planes clung to walls, floors, and ceilings; not people or tables or animals or anything else.

She peeked her head out, saw the forklift extending its prongs to lift a stack of empty crates, then did a one-eighty and came towards her.  Kaley slipped her head back into the crates, back into darkness, and listened to it pass.  Once the forklift had gone by again, she peeked her face out the front.  The driver had dropped his cargo, was backing up slowly, flipping off his headlights.  He d
idn’t even give a glance back in her direction.  He then disappeared down the dock.