Sunrise(Pact Arcanum 2) (41 page)

“He’s in bay number six. I’ll take you to him.”

They followed the doctor through the medical ward until they reached Nick’s bed. Lorcan stroked Nick’s slack features with his fingertips.

“What do we tell his family?” asked Scott.

“Nothing.” Rory gently laid his hand on Lorcan’s shoulder. “If he dies, or wakes up damaged, then we tell them he had an accident. Otherwise, you say he’s on vacation.” He faced Scott. “You’d better get back to your family before they start wondering where you are.”

“You want me to take my vacation as usual and just pretend this never happened?”

“Yes. Unless you decide to tell them the truth, you have no knowledge of Nick’s condition. There’s no way you could admit what you know and still keep Nick’s family out of it.”

“Maybe they deserve to know,” snarled Scott.

“Of course they do,” Rory said with a hint of irritation. “But that’s not what Nick wanted, and I promised to look after them when he’s gone.”

“He’s not gone.” Lorcan pulled up a bedside chair and took a seat. “He’ll be back.”

Scott watched Lorcan stare fixedly at Nick’s face. “You really are in love with him, aren’t you?”

“Yes.” Lorcan didn’t even turn around. He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “Does he know?”

“No,” said Scott. “He doesn’t have a clue.”

“We should set up a rotation if we want to keep an eye on him,” suggested Rory. He pointed at Scott. “You should go. I’ll call you if his condition changes.”

Scott looked ready to argue, but then his face fell, his anger burnt out. “Day or night, Rory. I want to know the second he wakes up.”

“And you let me know if you feel anything over the link before he regains consciousness.” Rory turned back to Lorcan, who remained still, gazing at Nick. “I assume you want first watch?”

“Yes.” Lorcan finally made eye contact. “Thank you for understanding, Redeemer.”

Rory nodded silently, and then he and Scott walked away, leaving Lorcan alone with Nick’s still form.

Lorcan clasped Nick’s limp hand. “Come back to me, Nicholas,” he said quietly. “I’m waiting for you.”

CHAPTER 53

April 2039; Citadel Central Infirmary, Lunar Farside; Six weeks later

Nick kept screaming as he drowned in terror and excruciating pain. Then the torment ceased abruptly. The world became blessedly peaceful, his harsh breaths loud in the still darkness. He opened his eyes and found himself in bed, his surroundings faintly lit by a small lamp on the nightstand. Reaching out with his senses revealed only the slow rhythm of sleeping heartbeats across the room. The odor of ethanol and ozone stung his nose.
Sterilization field,
he thought.
Hospital.

Uncomprehending, he tried to climb out of bed, but found he was too weak to even throw back the covers. He lay there, panting from the effort, until he finally realized there was someone sitting next to him in a chair. Forcing his eyes to focus, he identified Scott’s features in the semi-darkness.

Crap. I probably had an accident and someone pulled Scott off his vacation to babysit me.
Nick winced, knowing the Sentinel had been looking forward to his time off for weeks.
I’m never going to hear the end of this. What the hell happened?
Thinking back, he was immediately submerged in pain, brightly and vividly real in his enhanced memory. He lost his tenuous hold on reality and slipped into a delirious, disjointed maelstrom of impressions, some recent, some from the day Luscian had come for him, all drenched in suffering. When he finally came to his senses again, he lay helpless, too weak and drained to even move. With difficulty, he turned his head to look at Scott, who was still fast asleep.

Wearily, Nick extended a psychic probe along the link.
“Scott.”

“Five more minutes,” the Sentinel muttered, beginning to snore.

“Scott, wake up!”
Nick put all of his remaining strength into the psychic shout.

Scott jumped and woke fully, peering around to see what had disturbed him. Then he found himself gazing into Nick’s open eyes. “Oh, my God.” Scott stabbed the call button on the nightstand.

“Scott,”
thought Nick.
“What’s happening?”

“We don’t know exactly.” Scott leaned forward and squeezed his hand. “It’s possible that you were attacked. What do you remember?”

Nick closed his eyes and shivered.
“Pain.”

“Don’t think about it, Nicholas. It’s over now, and you’re safe.”

“Did I screw up your trip?”

Scott blinked, staring at him in shock. “You’ve been in a coma for more than six weeks and you’re asking about my
travel plans
?”

Nick’s eyes widened. “Coma?” he said, his voice hoarse.

Then the doctors came and there wasn’t time to talk further.

Two weeks later

Nick shook his head. “I can’t, Scott. I already tried.”

“Come on,” urged Scott, reaching out his hand. “One more try and I’ll leave you alone until tomorrow. Do it for me.”

Nick sighed. “Fine.” He glared at the parallel bars in front of him, just a little below eye level from where he sat in his wheelchair. Then he carefully pulled himself forward, while Scott hovered beside him, and levered himself up out of the chair. Managing to get both feet planted firmly on the floor, he shifted position until his weight rested entirely on his arms. He could feel the tremor in his muscles as they protested from the strain, but he concentrated on his legs and managed a shuffling step forward with his right foot. Slipping his right hand forward slightly on the bar, he stepped forward with his left foot.

Scott grinned widely. “Two steps. That’s a start. Only five more to go and you’ll be at the other side.”

Nick began to sweat. Five more steps seemed like a marathon. He shifted his grip on the parallel bars to lean forward slightly and took another shuffling step forward. The tremor in his arms was more pronounced now. He took one more step forward, experimentally placing a little more weight on his knees.

Scott moved a little closer, concerned. “Come on, Nicholas. You can do this. You’re halfway there already.”

Nick forced his feet to carry him one step closer to the other side of the bars.

“You’re doing great, Nick. Just take—”

Nick’s right arm gave out and he lurched sideways away from Scott, who darted forward to catch him. Rotating around the fulcrum of Scott’s grip, Nick fell forward, slamming his fist against the floor to break his fall. Pain blossomed along his knuckles and he cursed, and then suddenly he was lost in his memories again—screaming in the dark while his entire body spasmed in agony. When the flashback finally subsided, he found himself huddled in Scott’s arms, shivering and weeping blood.

Scott held him tight as he fought back tears. “That’s enough for today.”

May 2039; One month later

Recursion Dyssynchrony. They had finally put a name to what had happened. Nick was genetically incompatible with the jumpdrive matrix that enabled space travel. The Colonies were a closed door to him, he understood. He was Earthbound.

Nick gazed morosely out through the window at the rocky landscape of the lunar plain. The Citadel had always been a beacon of hope to him, the gateway to an imagined wider world. Now it was just a dead end, a reminder that from an infinite number of choices, he now had none. His friends tried to cheer him up, telling him there was so much to see on Earth that he would never miss the Colonies, and that he couldn’t lose something he never had. In his mind’s eye, however, he saw a series of interconnected pyramids on a high plateau and felt nothing but grief for the wonders that were out of reach.

He had progressed in his physical therapy, retraining his muscles to respond to his control. He was regaining function from the top down and had completely recovered the dexterity in his hands. Scott had brought him his guitar, but he honestly didn’t care enough to even bother with melody. He just picked at the strings, his atonal rhythms filling the empty space of his room and matching the disjointed memories that kept forcing their way into his awareness. In a way, the random music provided an excellent counterpoint to his circular thoughts. Those same thoughts kept him awake at night, reminding him there would be no miracle cure this time, no lucky break that would make everything all right again. This time, he had well and truly lost.

It was ironic that the healing spell he cast to protect himself had actually prolonged his agony, slowing the breakdown of his nervous system. Otherwise, he would have been blissfully unconscious or dead in a matter of minutes, just like the others.

The others.
Nick tried to swallow his disappointment as he reread the letter in his hand. Tossing it carelessly on the table, he took another swig of whiskey. He had been avoiding bloodwine—the echoes of memory sliding through the liquor were too potent for him now and served only to remind him how little he wished to live in his own memories. The remembrance of pain was always just under the surface, waiting to engulf him if he wasn’t suitably distracted. Recollections of Luscian threatened from the other side of his mind, ready to drag him down.
Just one more thing I can’t control.

Lorcan sat down next to him and poured himself some whiskey from Nick’s bottle. “The doctors say you’ve been making progress. That you can walk unassisted now.”

“So I can walk.” Nick shrugged. “Where should I go?”

Lorcan said nothing, only picked up the letter Nick had dropped and read the short message. “You finally heard from one of the others.”

Nick laughed softly. “Ten cases and three survivors, including me.” He waved his drink at the letter. “This one is a Daywalker. She says she lives in the Citadel, but doesn’t say where. The doctors won’t give me her address, or her name, so I had to be satisfied with an anonymous letter. She declined my invitation to talk, and asked me not to contact her again. Apparently, she doesn’t choose to dwell on it.”

Lorcan folded the letter and slipped it back into the torn envelope on the table. “What about the third survivor?”

Nick brought his glass to his lips and took another swallow. “No reply.”

Lorcan’s eyebrows inched upward as he noticed the bottle on the table was only a third full, and it was a completely different brand from the one Nick had been drinking when Lorcan had come by earlier that morning. “Nick, how much have you had to drink today?”

Nick poured himself another drink. “A couple of bottles. Maybe three.”

“Why are you doing this to yourself? Why won’t you let me take you home?”

“Why bother?” Nick slid a little deeper in his chair. “Where is home, anyway? Anchorpoint? Los Angeles? Where can I go that will protect me from the memories?”

“Nicholas, vampires don’t forget. The memories will stay fresh in your mind forever. Unless you come to terms with them, they’ll ride you into your grave.”

Nick snorted. “So what?”

Lorcan sighed. “You’re very important to me, Nick, but don’t expect that I will just sit here and watch you destroy yourself.”

Nick looked fully into the Nightwalker’s eyes for the first time during their conversation. “Then don’t watch, Ruarc.”

After staring at him for a long moment, Lorcan rose and stalked out of the room.

Nick faced the window, uncaring. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out one of the bottles of painkillers he had stolen from the hospital medication depot. Opening it, he counted out the number of pills remaining.
Five.
He was using them up too fast, and his tolerance was building. He’d have to find something stronger if he wanted to numb the memories that haunted his dreams. Nick slipped two of the pills back into the bottle and washed the other three down with whiskey, already making plans for his return to Los Angeles. There was someone he needed to see, someone who might have just what he was looking for. Nick closed his eyes and leaned back in his chair, smiling for the first time that day.

CHAPTER 54

June 2039; Los Angeles, California; Three weeks later

Nick stood calmly in the center of the vacant lot. It was deserted at this time of night, no one willing to brave the darkened streets. He waited for almost half an hour before another man entered the open space and strode cockily toward him.

A few years younger than Nick, he was white with black hair and dark eyes, and was dressed for a morning jog. But it wasn’t morning, and he wasn’t here for the exercise. He stopped a few feet away and took a drag on his cigarette before dropping it to the ground and stubbing it out with his shoe.

Nick smiled pleasantly at him. “Are you Deaver? You came highly recommended.”

The younger man sneered. “It’s all true. Anything you want, I can get for you, as long as you can cough up the cash.”

Pulling a thick envelope from his jacket, Nick carefully counted out twenty hundred dollar bills and tossed them on the ground between them. “How much will that buy me?”

The younger man blinked as he glanced at the envelope. At least ten times that amount remained in Nick’s hand. “Anything you want. Name your poison.”

“It has to be strong. Otherwise, why don’t you just surprise me?”

Deaver laughed. “How about this for a surprise, then?” He pulled a revolver out of a shoulder holster and leveled it at the Daywalker’s head. “Why don’t you just lay the rest of that cash on the ground and we’ll call it a night.”

Nick rolled his eyes in annoyance. “Deaver, my contacts said you were a professional. Robbery is hardly your usual line of work.”

“What you’re holding in your hand is a week’s profits, rich boy.” Deaver scowled at him. “I know who you are. I’ll bet your squeaky clean image wouldn’t stand for this kind of bad publicity.”

Nick shrugged. “Whatever.” He slipped the envelope back into his jacket and turned away. “I don’t have time for games. Keep the change.”

Deaver cocked the hammer of his gun. “Do you have time for a trip to the morgue? Drop the envelope on the ground. I’m not playing games tonight.”