Fired Up

by Jayne Ann Krentz

  “Machinery on the floor above. Causing a lot of noise. All of my senses are wide open. I hurt all over. Burning up with fever. I can barely tolerate the constant clang and rumble. There is only one way to escape and that is to sink back into the dreamscape. But I’m not going down that hellhole again. No control down there. I’d rather be dead.”

  “Where are you?” Chloe asked gently.

  “A room. Looks a little like a hospital room. Underground, I think. No windows. The fluorescent ceiling lights are on, but things are distorted. The fever is affecting my vision.”

  “But you can see.”

  “Yes. There’s a stainless-steel sink and counter. An aluminum walker. A white cabinet with some medical stuff in it. A stethoscope and some kind of monitor on the wall. Also one of those little red boxes that hold used needles and syringes.”

  “What else do you see?”

  He paused, sorting through the jumble of images and impressions. “The floor is concrete. I remember that because it reminds me of the concrete flooring the designer put into my condo. But this concrete is not smooth and polished. It’s old and cracked. The kind you see in a garage.”

  “Or a basement?”

  He considered that briefly. “Yes. A basement. I’m lying on a gurney, and I’m trying to think of my plan. I’m pretty sure I had one.”

  “What plan?”

  “I managed to come up with it the first time I awakened. But I didn’t get a chance to carry it out because they gave me another shot. I’m trying to concentrate, but the noise and the light make it almost impossible. I remind myself I’m a strat. I need to focus on priorities. I finally remember the plan. I have to get the guard into the room to make it work.”

  “There’s a guard?”

  “Outside the door. I remember seeing him the last time I woke up. I try to sit up. That’s when I remember the restraints.”

  “You’re tied to the bed?” Chloe asked, horrified.

  “I’m shackled to the gurney with leather straps, the kind used in hospitals to control violent patients. There is just enough give in the bonds to allow me to pound my hands against the metal sides of the bed. The door opens, and the guard comes into the room. He looks bored with his job. I’m thinking I can work with that.”

  “Can you describe the guard?”

  “For some reason I’ve labeled him Bruce. Not sure why. Probably because he’s really pushing the macho biker look. Lots of denim, studded leather belt. Motorcycle boots. Tattoos. Wears his hair in a ponytail.”

  “Sounds like one of the guys who attacked us.”

  “No. A different man. But the same aura of energy. I’m pretty sure he’s a talent of some kind. Given the fact that he’s standing guard, I’m betting that he’s a hunter. But he doesn’t read like a full para- hunter.”

  “What do you mean?” Chloe asked.

  “I can sense weaknesses and vulnerabilities, remember? My talent tells me that Bruce doesn’t have the full spectrum of abilities that come with true hunter-talent. I don’t know how to explain it. There’s just something a little off about him.”

  “Like the guy who was waiting for us in the motel room?”

  “Yes.”

  “That makes three bikers involved in this thing,” Chloe said. “A lot of low-end, not-so-bright muscle. Go on.”

  “Bruce asks me if I need to take a leak.” He cleared his throat. “Uh, use the bathroom. I tell him yes and that I really need to go bad. My voice sounds mushy, even to my own ears.”

  “Bruce unfastens the restraints?”

  “Yeah. Tells me that if I piss in the sheets I’m going to have to clean it up, myself. Then he moves back and pushes the aluminum walker toward me. I’m sitting on the edge of the gurney. It takes almost everything I’ve got to stand. Feels like I’m moving through a sea of gelatin. But I take hold of the walker. That’s when I realize I’m wearing a hospital gown. Going to be tough to escape from wherever I am in an outfit like that.”

  “What did you do next?” she asked.

  “I try firing up my senses to see if that will give me some energy. I’m more than a little amazed when the room comes into sharper focus. I’m definitely stronger running hot. Not so shaky. I know I can’t rely on raw psi for very long, not burning it at this rate. But for a short period of time maybe it will give me what I need.”

  He stopped talking for a moment, trying to process a few more memories. It was strange having them come back to him like this, as if he had just plucked them from a deep, dark hole.

  “Was there a struggle?” Chloe prompted.

  “No. I know I can’t take Bruce in a hand-to-hand fight. Not even on a good day and this is not a good day. Bruce might not be a full hunter, but he is powerful and he will be fast. It’s clear that he’s not expecting trouble from me, though. Why would he? I probably look like overcooked spaghetti to him. He lounges against the gurney and reaches for the can of chewing tobacco in his back pocket.”

  He stopped again, replaying his own words, trying to absorb all the new data.

  “Jack, what happened next?”

  “I take one step and then another with the walker. When I’m satisfied that I can hold my own weight, I upend the aluminum frame and ram one of the legs straight toward Bruce’s gut.”

  “Good grief. Did it work?”

  “Almost. With a nonhunter I think it actually would have worked. But Bruce has the lightning-fast reactions of his talent going for him. He seizes the walker leg just before it hits him and he jerks the whole frame out of my hands. I lunge for the door, but I already know that I’m not going to make it. I can hear Bruce roaring behind me. He’s in a real ’roid rage, and he’s running wide open. He won’t just stop me, slap me around and tie me to the gurney again. He’s going to kill me. Won’t be able to help himself. He’s out of control.”

  “Oh, geez.”

  “And then, without even thinking about it, I know exactly how to stop Bruce.”

  “With your talent?”

  “My new talent.”

  “Your fully developed talent,” Chloe said firmly.

  “I hit him with a heavy wave of psi. Bruce grunts once and drops to the floor. He doesn’t move.”

  “Dead?”

  “No.” He frowned, trying to think. “Not then. But he was unconscious, and he must have died later because there was a report in the papers about an unidentified body found floating in Elliott Bay. The description sounded like Bruce, right down to the tattoos.”

  “How did you get out of that room?” she asked.

  “I took Bruce’s clothes. They didn’t fit, but it was the middle of the night, one or two in the morning, I think. There was no one around on the street. I knew where I was. Capitol Hill. I managed to stagger the two blocks to Broadway. The bars and clubs were closing. I got a cab. I remember the driver thought I was stone drunk. I paid him with some cash I found in Bruce’s wallet. I made it home and then I collapsed. When I woke up I couldn’t remember anything. I ran a fever for two days. Stayed in bed. Never been so sick in my life.”

  “Did you talk to anyone?”

  “No. When I finally recovered I told myself that the reason I couldn’t remember anything was that I’d been unconscious due to a raging fever. The report of a naked, tattooed male body being pulled out of the bay appeared that same day in the papers.”

  “What was the cause of death?”

  “Overdose, according to the press. The authorities figured he’d jumped from one of the ferries.”

  “But you didn’t buy it,” Chloe said.

  He met her eyes. “It was a little tough to believe that version of events when I had a bunch of biker leathers and denims along with a pair of motorcycle boots sitting in my closet.”

  She pondered that for a moment. “You said the last thing you remembered before you woke up in that room was walking home after having a beer with a friend.”

  “Right.”

  “Well, that certainly explains the taint of the drugs
that I saw in your dream psi. It wasn’t the sleeping meds—it was whatever they gave you to knock you out and keep you under in that room where they held you prisoner for twenty-four hours. Someone kidnapped you right off the street. You’re a wealthy man. I wonder if they planned to hold you for ransom.”

  “No,” he said, very certain now. “This was all about the lamp. There has to be a connection.”

  “Whoever grabbed you drugged you with something strong enough to give you amnesia for that twenty-four-hour period of time. There are several heavy-duty sedatives that could do that. Also a lot of illegal stuff. Whatever they used suppressed your memories for a while, but the effects of the drug were fading because your strong talent was reasserting itself. Sooner or later you would have remembered everything. Wonder if the kidnappers realize that?”

  He shoved himself up out of the chair and began to prowl the room, restless and edgy. “What about the blackouts that came afterward?”

  “More side effects of the drug they used to keep you under. Meds that strong have very unpredictable effects on a lot of people, not just strong talents like you. What do you remember about the sleepwalking episodes?”

  “Just that I left my condo on foot and walked all the way to a street on Capitol Hill and back each time.” He stopped pacing and turned to face her. “And there’s something else.”

  “What?”

  “I did not want to be seen. I deliberately left my condo building through the rear entrance in the garage, not the lobby. I remember being paranoid about it. I was convinced that someone was watching me. And sure enough, each time there was some guy out in the alley. I didn’t know who he was, but I knew that I didn’t want him to see me.”

  “What did you do?”

  “I used my talent to scare the daylights out of him. It worked. He got so frightened each time that he couldn’t take the shadows in the alley. He left but he was always back in position when I returned. I worked the same trick again and slipped inside the building while he was getting over his attack of nerves.”

  “Sounds like whoever drugged you was having you watched.”

  He examined the memories again, processing details and the time frame. “Why in hell would anyone drug me and hold me prisoner for twenty-four hours and then set up a surveillance operation?”

  “They didn’t set you free. You escaped. Maybe they intended to keep you longer than twenty-four hours, but you got away and upset their plans.”

  “And why was I so sick? Do you think the fever was the result of the amnesia drug?”

  “I don’t know, maybe.” She watched him for a moment. “You said that during the sleepwalking episodes you walked up to Capitol Hill from your condo on First Avenue.”

  “Right.”

  “Where did you go on Capitol Hill?”

  “The street where I ran into the killer who tried to murder the nurse.”

  “What do you remember about the neighborhood?”

  “It was quiet. There were a few small shops on the block, but they were all closed at night.” He stopped, adrenaline kicking in as another memory slid home. “Except for the gym. Damn, that’s it.”

  “What?”

  “The sounds I heard when I woke up in that little room. Gym machines.”

  42

  “THE LAMP,” FALLON SAID. PHONE CLAMPED TO HIS EAR, HE stood looking down at the darkened windows of the Sunshine Café. “Somehow this has got to involve that damn artifact.”

  “How does that explain someone grabbing me off the street and drugging me?” Jack asked.

  “You said the room where you were held looked like a hospital room. The first thing that comes to mind is that you were targeted for an experiment of some kind.”

  “Why would Nightshade want to run an experiment on me?”

  “Because you’re a Winters,” Fallon said, impatient now. He could feel it coming together, but some things were still too vague. He really needed to get more sleep. “Think about it. You’re a direct male descendant of Nicholas Winters. Nightshade is clearly having some problems with the formula. Maybe they’re looking for an alternative. The Burning Lamp was created for a similar purpose, to enhance naturally occurring talent and create additional paranormal abilities. Whoever took you may have wanted some samples of your blood for a little DNA testing and research.”

  “Great. So I spent twenty-four hours as a lab rat. Wonder how long they planned to keep me.”

  “Who knows? Maybe they didn’t intend to keep you around at all after they were finished with you.”

  “Think they were going to kill me?” Jack asked.

  “I can’t say yet—I just don’t have enough data. The thing is, you escaped, even though you were doped to the gills and running a high-grade fever. You managed to overpower one of their formula-hyped hunters.”

  “So?”

  “That probably made them very nervous, but it may also have convinced them that you actually do possess more than just one talent. They would interpret that as evidence that the lamp worked all those years ago and that Old Nick’s descendants are genetically enhanced.”

  “All right, let’s play this out. I escape, and the first thing I do is go looking for a dreamlight reader and the lamp. They follow me and try to steal the lamp. Is that it?”

  “I think so. Maybe.”

  “You don’t sound like your usual ninety- eight-point-seven-percent sure self, Fallon.”

  “Possibly because I’m not ninety- eight-point-seven-percent certain.”

  “I’ve got some other information for you,” Jack continued. “I think that Nightshade or at least the guys who drugged me and tried to take the lamp are working out of a gym in Seattle. That’s where they’re recruiting the cheap-ass hunter muscle.”

  “Huh.” Fallon smiled a little. This time there was an almost audible click when lines appeared between certain points of light on the multidimensional chessboard in his mind. This time he was sure. “I like that theory. It sounds right. Tell me more.”

  “When I got my memories back tonight one of the things I remembered was that during my sleepwalking episodes I went back to a street on Capitol Hill where the only business open all night is a fitness club. I also remembered hearing the sound of gym machines coming through the ceiling of that little cell where they held me.”

  Fallon headed back to his desk and picked up a pen. “Got a name and address?”

  “Sure. But before you send in a team to take the place apart and scatter the bad guys, I suggest you have someone get some deep background on it. Check out the financials, ownership, that kind of thing. Follow the money, Fallon.”

  “Can’t think of anyone better qualified than you to handle the job.”

  Jack went silent on the other end for a few seconds.

  “You want me to research the place for you?” he said finally.

  “Why not? You’re the best there is at this kind of thing. Not to mention that you’ve got what I like to call a vested interest in the outcome.”

  “I’m getting the impression that you don’t have a lot of financial strats or probability-talents under contract with J&J.”

  “A couple but no one as strong as you.”

  “All right, I’ll see what I can find out,” Jack said. “Meanwhile, Chloe and I are going to fly back to Seattle in the morning unless you think there’s any reason to remain out of sight.”

  “I don’t think either of you is in any danger as long as that lamp is tucked away in an Arcane vault. Like I said, Nightshade will have pulled the plug on this operation by now.”

  “You’re sure of that?”

  “This is all about the lamp, Jack. And we’ve got the lamp under lock and key.”

  “Then we’ll go home.”

  “Call me as soon as you have something on that gym.”

  He cut the connection and went back to the window. The Sunshine Café wouldn’t open for another two and a half hours. It would be nice to be able to go down there right now, sit in a booth with
a cup of coffee and let Isabella Valdez clarify his thoughts with her annoyingly positive energy field.

  It would be even better to talk things over with her, but she wasn’t a member of the Society, let alone a J&J employee. She probably didn’t even realize that she was seriously psychic. If he tried to explain his work to her she would think he was a whacked- out conspiracy theorist who was not quite right in the head. There were enough people around already who held that opinion. He did not want her to come to the same conclusion.

  43

  “THE COLLEGE NOTIFIED ME THAT MY CONTRACT WON’T BE RENEWED,” Fletcher said. “But all things considered, I’m not complaining. If you hadn’t been there that night, I’d be dead. So I’m going to pay your bill.”

  “Gee, thanks,” Chloe said. “Because I’m certainly going to send it to you.”

  He smiled ruefully. “Figured you would.”

  “There won’t be any extra charge for Mr. Winters’s services, however.”

  Fletcher adjusted his glasses. “As far as I’m concerned he didn’t do me or the world any favors by dragging Madeline Gibson out of the house. I still say he should have left her behind.”

  “He disarmed her, Fletcher. She shot my dog, and she was going to shoot you next.”

  “The cops didn’t say anything about Winters disarming her.” Fletcher scowled. “I was told that she suffered a psychotic break and collapsed.”

  “It was a little more complicated than that.” But explanations would be even more convoluted, so she decided to stop there.

  They were sitting in her office. The door to the reception area was partially ajar. Hector was stretched out on his bed, nose on his paws. He was no longer wearing the cone around his neck, and his bandage had been removed. Aside from the area on his head that had been shaved and stitched, he looked normal again. As was his custom, he paid no attention to Fletcher.

  “I heard Madeline Gibson is still at Western Cove,” Chloe said.

  “Probably be there for a while,” Fletcher said. “She confessed everything, but I hear she’s still talking about the demon that came through the fire to get her. Definitely loony tunes.”