39
Gavin let out a startled yell when Cedar’s cold nose found the back of his warm neck. “Snagged me again, didn’t you?” he said, rolling over to eye the dog. Cedar just smiled.
Gavin stared at the two digital clocks on his night table until his eyes focused and there was only one of them. Nine A.M. “Geez. I’ve been asleep for ten hours,” he told Cedar.
It was Sunday and he was going to take Chris’s advice: a day of rest. He went for the shower, washed, then sat down in the tub, letting the steamy water bounce off his chest and massage his mind. Later, he decided as he soaked, he would leisurely go to the hospital to see Amy and Amber, but not for questioning, unless Amber initiated it.
Gavin had barely finished exhaling a sigh of celebration for his well-needed breather when a crowd of intrusive thoughts raised their ugly heads, vying for position at the door of his mind. Memories emerged of conversations with his grandfather at Coney Island and of working with John Garrity on the Sunbeam Tiger. They were pleasant recollections, but came with a price; attached to them were vicious flashes of their cruel and undeserved deaths. He couldn’t see them one way without the other.
He quickly tried to chase them away with more pleasant thoughts. The last thing he needed now was more grief. He tried thinking of Amy, but couldn’t do that without thinking of Amber. Relaxing, he decided, wasn’t very relaxing. His naturally analytical mind needed to be shut off. What he really needed was a lobotomy.
His thoughts shifted to Reverend Buck. There was no way of proving or disproving anything the man had said. You either had to take what he said in faith or find the more realistic explanation…
“Enough,” he said aloud. “I get more rest when I’m working.” With a sigh he got out of the tub and slipped into a pair of worn jeans, basketball sneakers, and a navy-blue T-shirt. He strapped on an ankle holster and was ready to go when he caught a glimpse of something on his night table that made him pause. He reached for the Polaroid of him and Grampa with the snake on the boardwalk. The smiles on their faces both warmed and saddened him.
Something about the photo bothered him. The snake. He didn’t like the way the thing was so at rest on them, as if it owned them. Maybe he was allowing his emotion to read more into the picture than his logic could rightly perceive. Maybe he was simply feeding off the common mythical association that snakes have with evil. Whatever, seeing the reptile spiked a notion he couldn’t shake. He might not have any faith in the Reverend Buck, but he could put what he had said to the test.
GAVIN SAW KATZ’S CAR outside Karianne’s apartment, so he tried the door before knocking, in case they were in session. They were. He hung back out of sight in the foyer and listened.
“And what is Carry doing now?” Katz said.
“She’s taking food out of the picnic basket,” Karianne said slowly, the way she spoke when under hypnosis.
“Are you hungry?”
“No. Thirsty.”
“What do you want to drink?”
“Whiskey.”
“Did Carry bring any whiskey?”
“No. She doesn’t like whiskey. Gets her mad. Real mad.”
Gavin listened for several more minutes before he stepped into the living room. He hadn’t heard a word about Krogan and figured Katz had broken the only rule Gavin had given him: go wherever you want, as long as Krogan’s there.
Katz jumped slightly at the sight of Gavin.
Gavin gave him an abbreviated wave with his fingers. Caught you, he thought. He then gave a nod to Steinman, who had been listening because Karianne was speaking in English.
Katz got up and motioned toward the foyer.
“How did it go with Buchanan?” Katz asked in a hushed voice.
“I’m not sure.”
“Where’s Amy?”
“With her sister. She woke up.”
“Thank God.”
“Yeah. How’s it going here?”
“Phenomenally. I was just speaking to Dr. Charles Gloyd,” Katz said, beaming.
“Who?”
“Dr. Charles Gloyd is a Union veteran from Ohio.”
“What’s a union veteran?” Gavin said, thinking of burly men waving picket signs.
“Union as in Union Army. The Civil War, Pierce. I’ve already checked with the Kansas State Historical Society to verify what she’s been saying. It’s all true, and she couldn’t have found these facts in an encyclopedia.”
“What facts?”
“Have you ever heard of Carry Amelia Moore?”
Gavin thought. “No. Doesn’t ring a bell.”
“How about Carrie Nation?”
Gavin frowned. “Sounds vaguely familiar, but I don’t know. Who is she?”
“At the turn of the century she and her followers were marching through saloons with axes, smashing everything in sight, starting with the bottles. Her zeal was the result of her first husband, who died of alcoholism two years after they were married. He drove her crazy. Dr. Charles Gloyd was that husband,” Katz said, beaming.
“A drunk?”
“Yes. Karianne’s always a drunk. It’s amazing. There’s no end to the mysteries she’s capable of unlocking. Alcoholism is not only hereditary. Apparently, it can be passed along in the reincarnation process,” Katz said enthusiastically.
“Apparently,” Gavin said, nonplussed.
“I’ve traveled five, maybe ten thousand years with her, and in each life, she’s a drunk. And so are her friends… including Krogan. Do you know she’s had at least twenty lives as a pirate, dating back from the first Phoenician pirates, hundreds of years B.C., through the Vikings, and beyond. She even sailed with Anne Bonney, the infamous woman pirate. The only one I’m having a little trouble with is during a time she claims to have been a pirate just after the Vietnam War. The problem isn’t verifying that the events happened. The problem is she was already alive as Karianne.”
Gavin thought of what Buck had said. “How’s our Karianne doing?”
“Great. No more problems. I’ve installed a shortcut command in her. If I see even the slightest hint of anxiety, I say ‘Terminate’ and she automatically returns to full consciousness without any memory of whatever unpleasant event she was reliving. And just in case of an emergency, I keep a hypo of tranquilizer at the ready.”
“You’ve obviously thought of everything,” Gavin said sarcastically.
Katz’s naturally sad expression became sadder. “What’s wrong?”
Gavin paused, looking him in the eye. “I want you to let me speak to her.”
“While she’s under?” Katz said, taken back.
“Yeah.”
“When?”
“Now.”
“I don’t know. She’s not going to recognize your voice. It could be disruptive.”
“I’ll take that chance. Besides, you have your shortcut command.”
“I still think—”
“I insist,” Gavin said.
“I don’t understand, Pierce. What do you want to say to her?”
“One word. That’s all. Just one word.”
“One word?” Katz found it funny. “Do you think I would spend the time I do, delicately wooing her mind, suggesting emotions and dispelling possible phobias, if I could learn anything by simply walking up and saying one word?”
“Well then you have nothing to worry about, do you?”
Katz shrugged. “Be my guest.”
“A simple test to satisfy my curiosity, Katz. Nothing more.”
Katz smiled and graciously gestured toward Karianne. “She’s all yours.” As Gavin took one step forward Katz held up an index finger and reminded him, “For one word.”
Gavin took the seat Katz had been warming since who knows when while Katz sat back in a nearby folding chair. Gavin looked at Katz, who smiled and gestured again toward Karianne.
Karianne looked like she could have been asleep, her eyes closed, hands folded on her abdomen. Gavin had been driven with curiosity all morning, but now, si
tting before her, he suddenly felt foolish. He wished he were alone. He could see Katz in his peripheral view, amused, ready to explain to him why some people are cops while others are psychologists. Ah, why not, Gavin thought. It wouldn’t be him that was wrong; it would be Reverend Buck. He was simply testing every possibility, as far fetched as it might be, just like a good detective should. And if he was going to do it, he might as well do it right.
“Sabah,” Gavin called firmly, as if Sabah was Karianne’s real name. Katz looked at him curiously.
Nothing. Good.
Wait… Something was happening. Karianne’s chin lifted slowly. Her eyelids slitted open, then widened. At first she gazed straight ahead. Then, without moving her head, her eyes shifted and found Gavin.
Gavin was shocked speechless. Of all the times he’d seen her under, he had never seen Karianne open her eyes like this. Her gaze was locked onto his and it scared him. He could not see Katz, but he knew the doctor was no longer smiling.
Karianne pivoted her head until her eyes were centered. “Who called me?” she said evenly, almost authoritatively.
Gavin didn’t know what to say. Buck had not said anything about what to do in this situation, only that he shouldn’t do what he had just done. Okay, his curiosity was satisfied, but how was he supposed to turn her off? He suddenly wished Buck were here to hide behind.
“In whose name am I called?” she repeated, this time demanding.
A clearly baffled Katz motioned for Gavin to answer her.
Gavin nodded. “Detective Gavin Pierce, Nassau County Police,” he said. He could not remember it ever sounding so lame.
She laughed strangely; a scream would have sounded warmer.
“I don’t recognize your authority. How do you know my name?” she said as she dropped her good leg off the side of the couch and sat upright, her injured leg sticking outward in the cast. It was not a position Karianne would naturally situate herself into.
Gavin started to tell her he was a friend of Reverend Buchanan, but hesitated. He didn’t know if it would help or hurt. He didn’t know anything.
Just then, Katz, who had not been prepped on any of this, came over. He put his hands on Karianne’s shoulders, apparently hoping to ease her back down. “I want you to relax yourself and—” he said, just before Karianne threw him to the side as easily as if she was a bull gorilla. Gavin jumped back as he watched Steinman reflexively raise his arms to protect himself from Katz sailing into him. In the next instant they were both sprawled out on the floor.
Gavin instinctively reached for his ankle, pulled out his gun, and leveled it between Karianne’s eyes. “Hold it right there,” he yelled, feeling ridiculous. There he was, weapon in hand, aimed to kill a twenty-nine-year-old woman who had just gotten out of the hospital with a broken leg.
Karianne looked at the gun and laughed. “Go ahead, Detective Gavin Pierce,” she said spreading her arms wide, her eyes unnaturally wide. “Shoot.” She rose from the couch like a living scarecrow, effortlessly standing on the broken leg.
Gavin stepped back involuntarily. He immediately remembered Buck warning him not to shoot Krogan. He didn’t want to shoot Karianne, but…
“Terminate,” Katz yelled from the other side of the room.
Nothing.
“Terminate,” Katz repeated. “Ter-min-ate.”
So much for the shortcut. Karianne was still standing there as if hanging on an imaginary cross, seemingly intent on being shot. Gavin thought of what Buck had said about disenchanted demons wanting to kill their hosts so they could get a new one. If Sabah wasn’t doing this to Karianne, then what was? He could not believe what he was thinking, but he also could not believe what he was seeing.
Katz and Steinman came to their feet and hurried toward her. Gavin joined the charge.
Gavin had been on a college wrestling team, had trained in the martial arts, and had instructed rookies in police defense, but never had he seen quicker reflexes than Karianne’s when he, Katz, and Steinman closed in. A simple but blindingly fast backhand lifted the two-hundred-plus-pound Steinman into the air and dropped him unconscious to the floor more than fifteen feet away. Gavin himself was certain he had her by the right arm when suddenly the arm he thought he had, had him. She gave him a snapping jab under his left eye and then with astonishing speed grabbed his shirt with the same hand, lifted him up by the chest, and threw him down at her feet. The strength in that one arm was hydraulic. His gun jarred from his hand, flying into the chair’s cushion.
As Gavin took in his bearings from his new floor-level position, he saw the drug-filled hypo nearby. Karianne was turning toward Katz, who let out a loud groan and then crumpled. As fast as he could, Gavin grabbed the hypo and stabbed it into soft vascular flesh behind Karianne’s knee joint, burying the plunger into the hypo’s barrel in the same motion. He only hoped whatever was in the syringe was fast acting.
Karianne reacted instantly, and with a flick of her leg, Gavin was thrown against the wall, collapsing the plaster between the studs. He fell back to the floor. As she came toward him he dove for the overstuffed chair… and his gun. If he didn’t shoot her now, she would kill them all. He found the gun quickly and spun to fire, but when he turned, she had already stopped. She blinked once… twice… then fell to the floor in a heap.
40
One word, you said.‘I just want to say one word.’What was that word?” Katz yelled, shifting a bag of frozen peas from his swollen left eye to the back of his head. Gavin ignored the question as he placed a package of frozen blueberries on the back of Steinman’s neck. He didn’t want a psychological explanation to what had just happened; he wanted to talk to Buck. He reached for his cell phone before he remembered he had left it charging at home. He quickly looked around the room.
“Where’s the phone in this place?” he said. The bruised and confused psychologist pointed to the kitchen.
With the receiver of the wall phone pinched between his cheek and shoulder Gavin searched his pockets and then his wallet for Buck’s phone number, to no avail. “Great, Pierce,” he said sarcastically. “No cell phone, no number. Can you at least remember the freaking city and state?”
The information operator gave him the number for Samantha’s Dairy Farm. He dialed. One ring… two rings… the answering machine. He cursed. “Buck! Buck, are you there,” he yelled into the receiver, hoping the preacher would pick up.
After a moment of silence the machine beeped and disconnected. Gavin redialed, going through the machine process again.
“Just like you to know while you’re enjoying your country retirement, all hell’s breaking loose down here—literally. Why did you even mention not saying ‘Sabah’? You knew I would!”
He slammed the receiver again. Even if he had reached Buck there probably wasn’t anything the ex-preacher could do over the phone except remind Gavin he had told him not to call Sabah by name in the first place. Now what was he going to have to do? Have Katz keep Karianne unconscious until he could drive all the way to the Catskills, kidnap Buck, and drive back? He’d probably strangle Buck first. But what other preacher would know what Buck knew? Maybe they all did. Maybe none did. How could he find out—look up Demonology in the Yellow Pages? He went back to the living room.
“You okay?” he said to Steinman, who was sitting on one of the dining room chairs, his elbows on his knees and his face in his hands.
“A little dizzy, but I’ll be all right,” he said.
Gavin looked at Karianne, who was now back on the couch as if nothing had ever happened. He was a little concerned about the broken leg she had been standing on, but much more nervous about who or what would wake up when the drug wore off. And what could Buck do even if he was here—cast the demon out of her so it could find another host and come back to get them? Wonderful, he thought. Now he was calling it a demon.
Gavin needed time to gather his thoughts. There had to be a logical explanation. Maybe Karianne had some kind of mutant, metaphysical, psyc
hosomatic thing going on and maybe Katz could eventually figure it out. Yeah, right. And maybe he had not really woken up this morning and this was all a nightmare. The thought actually made him wonder.
“How long can you keep her out?” he asked Katz as he uprighted a lamp table. The lamp was broken in half, but Gavin put it on the table anyway.
“Why do you want me to keep her under?” Katz said. “Are you afraid she’ll still—”
“How do I know what she’ll do? The only thing I know is she didn’t pay much attention to your shortcut.”
“What does it mean?”
“What?”
“The word you said to her, Pierce. What do you think I’m talking about?” Katz replied in exasperation.
Gavin was wondering what to tell him when his beeper went off. He recognized the number at police headquarters. On a Sunday? He went back to the kitchen for the phone, hoping he hadn’t broken it.
“Homicide. Sergeant Maloney,” said a voice through the receiver.
“Sarge, Gavin Pierce,” he said, then winced as he touched his left cheekbone. “You page me?”
“Yeah. Sorry to disturb your Sunday, but the lieutenant thought you might want to know there’s been another crash and it looks like your boy. He fits all the physical descriptions, a dead ringer for the sketch, drunk as a skunk, and was driving the passenger’s car. The only difference is he didn’t get away. Fingerprints and hair samples are still pending, of course. Again, I know it’s Sunday, but the lieutenant figured you might want to identify him.”
Gavin was stunned speechless. He knew, of course, the possibility had always existed that Krogan would be caught this way, but somehow he’d thought…
“Hello? Pierce. Are you there?”
“Yeah, yeah. Listen, it’s extremely important he be put on a suicide watch.”
“That won’t be necessary.”
“What do you mean?”
“He’s dead. Killed in the crash.”
Driven Page 24