by Black, Regan
The wails faded to soft whimpers and soon, thanks to Mira's touch, the waitress would be unconscious.
She heard Leanore restoring order in the kitchen and giving instructions to reassure the customers too. "Do you need anything?"
"Just the water and bar towels."
"Right here."
Someone set a five gallon bucket and stack of bar towels next to her. "A knife? For the shirt," Mira clarified, as she continued to soothe her patient.
A knife appeared on the stack of towels. "We've called 9-1-1."
"That's good. That's fine," she lied. It wasn't fine for her. Burns were tricky and now she had to hurry on top of it. Using the wet towels to disguise her actions, she pulsed a bit of her energy to assess the damage underneath the skin as the water cooled the surface.
She found third degree burns in a few spots, but the rest were the more manageable second degree.
The formal inquiry had put her on edge. If an emergency crew was on the way, they'd expect a certain degree of injury. She couldn't just heal the waitress completely. Damn.
Making a snap judgment, she instructed Leanore to keep pouring cool water over the wet towels and she turned her focus to the healing the worst of the burns. Taking the third degree injuries out of the equation would reduce the patient's risk of infection or complication at the hospital. Letting the paramedics treat the second degree burns and transport would be the best option. But she had to give them a scenario that made sense and kept her under the radar.
She tried to make her movements resemble a standard biofeedback technique as she applied her gift and sought out the most problematic areas. Relieving the general pain as she went, she lingered over the spots that lit up like hot coals to her healer senses.
Seeing injuries as variations in the light spectrum was just another deviation the stodgy Five and their ultra-conservative supporters would use against her if they knew.
Mira gasped over a particularly bad patch where the shirt had melted into skin.
"You okay?"
She answered Leanore with a sharp nod and probed deeper with her own healing light, scouring the burn from the inside out. When the area felt more like the second degree burns, she moved on. She was just finishing up as the ambulance siren blared in the alley and the paramedics rushed into the kitchen.
Mira let Leanore explain the first aid measures they'd taken as well as rattle off her insurance details so they could transport the waitress. Everyone agreed Leanore would meet the patient at the ER rather than ride along in the ambulance.
"We're taking her to Mercy."
"But-"
"Central's ER is over the limit. Sorry."
The driver left, with another wail of sirens, and Leanore urged everyone back to work. "I'll show you around," she said to Mira. When they were alone in the upstairs hallway, she paused. "You have medical training."
"Yes."
"Will Stacy be okay?"
"I believe so. She'll be sore, as much from the tackling as the burns, but she'll recover quickly." The girl's system had suffered a shock, but overall she was in good health. Mira could hardly blurt that out.
"We're a close group here. Even the customers will worry if she's away too long."
"I'm sure the ER will give her a once over, some burn ointment and pain killers and send her home."
Mira held steady under Leanore's assessing gaze, refusing to volunteer anything that might give her away.
"Thanks. I owe you one." She swiped a key through the lock, twisted the knob and pushed open the door. "The place is yours for however long you need it." Handing Mira the key, she grabbed her for a quick hug, then retreated down the stairs.
Mira stood in the hallway, shell shocked from the hug for just a moment longer, but the privacy of the room drew her in.
She closed the door, locked it, and slid to the floor. The tears flowed and she didn't resist. She needed to let loose some of the bottled up emotion of the past days and recent events.
Her crying jag slowed when her mind started wandering over details again. How many days had she lost to the inquiry and the smuggling? She reached into the black bag and plowed through the contents, belatedly remembering the cell card she'd seen in the shopping bag. Maybe it was programmed.
Hoping she'd feel better and more in control with solid information, Mira pushed herself to her feet and looked around the modest room for a computer dock. The room was small and spartan, decorated in warm shades of brown. Not precisely homey, but a step above an impersonal hotel room or military quarters, but no computer dock or phone. Mira tapped the card, happy to see the calendar feature appear. Trusting it was accurate, she was pleased to discover she hadn't lost more than a day.
Now she just needed to find a computer to access whatever else might be on the card. She turned to the door, intent on asking Leanore, and stopped short. With the room and furnishings absolutely spotless, she felt a stab of guilt over scattering her belongings.
Scooping everything back into the bag, she plopped the whole mess on the bed.
She wanted to ignore the bag, wanted to believe it was just clothes and essentials, but she knew there was more waiting for her inside. Her father was in trouble and most likely, at the very least, some sort of directions were waiting for her to find them.
Find her father? She was so not up for this.
Too much personal baggage bogged down her memories of her dad. He'd been reviled in her community and revered in the world that would shun him if they knew exactly why he was so brilliant. She could almost laugh at the way people on both sides of the supernatural healer argument unknowingly agreed on one thing: they didn't trust what they didn't understand. Looking back the rumors and gossip had followed wherever she'd been. On the school playground, at events, even during applications and interviews when she pursued her own education. Everyone had an opinion, everyone wanted to judge Dr. Luther and his daughter.
If her dad was in trouble, if he was here in Chicago, she'd bet the government had finally figured him out and cast him aside.
The lack of clear, tangible instructions paralyzed her and she chewed on her thumbnail. In an exam room or a crisis, she knew how to proceed, but not in the face of so many unknowns.
Her father needed her to quit dithering.
She dug into the bag once more. Inside she found a pair of jeans and two polo shirts with a clinic name embroidered on the sleeve. The name and logo were vaguely familiar, but she couldn't quite place them. Most independent clinics had folded during the health care reforms of the 2050s and only a few were permitted to reorganize and reopen in recent years.
She shook out every piece of clothing, checked pockets for any notes or cards. Finding nothing, she set the clothes aside.
She dumped the bag upside down and sorted through toiletries and a bit of makeup. She was convinced her mother had packed the bag when she found her favorite brand of mascara. No one else would know that about her, but why had her mother gone to all this trouble?
A chill skated down her spine, thinking of her mother's comment about a funeral pyre, but it made no sense. Mira tried, but couldn't find a context to make it fit. Most healers were cremated in standard facilities like everyone else. It had to mean something since her mother wasn't prone to drama. No one in their order had been executed for generations.
Moving forward was the only way to halt her spinning thoughts. She ran her sensitive fingers over the lining of the bag, but she didn't feel anything other than the expected seams.
"I'd really like to find Dad. A clue would be nice."
Maybe Slick Micky had found a note or an item meant for her. She considered trying to find her way back to his lair for about one second. It would be an effort as futile as changing the collective opinion of the Five.
She dug deep for a memory of her father that would perk her up, give her a spark of hope. Coming up empty only proved how tired she was.
Where the hell could she even start looking? She didn't consider it c
oincidence that she was back in Chicago. But it was a huge city with layers of old and new areas mortared with fragile hopes and dashed dreams.
Mira studied the old brass key in her palm, turning it over, trailing her finger over the jagged edge.
An old school key. She smiled. She hadn't held one like it since...
Oh! The last time she'd seen something like this was her father's key ring when she was a child. He claimed he carried it as a reminder of doctors who did their best to unlock the mysteries the gifted healers of their order saw so clearly.
She grabbed the shirts, studied the logo on the sleeves again.
"Oh, thank you, Mom!" Pocketing the key and the contacts, she went racing downstairs with the cell card to borrow a computer.
Chapter 3
Leanore's office door was closed. She was probably still at the hospital with Stacy. Mira glanced around the kitchen, but everyone moved with busy purpose and she didn't want to interrupt or overstep.
She skirted through to the bar area and around to the customer side. When the bartender glanced her way she gave a little wave. His wide smile and hearty hello seemed a bit much as he hurried over. "Wow. I'm glad you're here. I didn't introduce myself before." He blotted his hands with a bar towel. "Kevin. Stacy and I, um, well we're close," he finished in a rush.
The boyfriend. Mira knew the drill for calming family. "She'll be fine."
"Thanks to you. You were a big help with the water and the – the efficiency. Leanore made me stay and run the place while she went to the hospital. I want to be with her, but she said she'd probably get to bring Stacy right home."
"That's a very good bet."
"So." He smiled again. "Name it. Anything you want, on the house."
She started with the easy thing first. "Water, please?" Her stomach was too jittery for food. "And, I, ah..." She stopped, cleared her throat, and reminded herself she wasn't really lying. "Computer access would be great. I couldn't find one in the room. My dad has an office around here, but I lost the address."
Kevin placed the glass of water in front of her. "Got a cell card?"
"Yup. Right here."
"Good." He reached under the bar, pulled up a screen and handed it to her. "Just swipe and you're good to go." He waited, making sure the panel loaded properly. "There. Search away. Sure I can't get you anything else?"
"No thanks." Mira was already adjusting to the touch screen keyboard and running searches on the clinic name, any possible variations, and looking for a street address in Chicago proper and the surrounding twenty mile radius.
She really hoped the address was within the el circuit. Allies or not, she wasn't sure how to reach Cleveland for his not-a-taxi transportation help.
When several addresses popped up, she sighed. But what else was on her agenda? It's not like she'd be late to a shift or anything. She copied and pasted the details to her cell card, and noticing the convenient icon, linked the addresses to the el routes. All of the addresses were inside Chicago city limits. At least that was easy.
She closed those apps and was about to withdraw her card when she noticed a new icon in the menu tray. With a tap she enlarged the logo and connected to an investment firm partnered with her bank.
Wary, she jumped when Kevin came back to check on her. "I'm fine really. Almost done here."
"Take your time."
When he'd wandered back to help a customer with a carry out order, she clicked the link. The login page came up instantly. She gaped when she saw her name filling the field. A box popped up on the screen, requesting her thumbprint.
What did she have to lose? Mira pressed her thumb as directed and tried not to look like a criminal while the system security did its thing. Account details filled the screen, starting with a 'thanks for trusting us' message dated yesterday, two deposit entries a week apart, and ending with a balance that nearly toppled her off the barstool.
Well, Merry Christmas to me. Except she didn't know anyone in the mood to give her that kind of money. The first entry corresponded with, and she opened the details page to verify, her personal bank account. The second entry indicated a new investment account with a balance capable of pushing her into a new tax bracket.
Who would give her this kind of money? Whoever it was must have hijacked her financial details after they'd sedated her. It was the only solution that made sense. But why would they fund her? To prove they could, or to blackmail her? And why so much? Instant wealth was convenient, sure, but she wondered about the current interest rate on free money. Exactly how many people would she owe before she found her dad?
With a sketchy plan forming in her mind, she returned to her room for her contacts and the coat, another courtesy of her invisible allies. She looked forward to what that little display revealed as she investigated her father's old clinic sites.
Leaving from Leanore's kitchen door, she walked out of the alley toward the street. The afternoon sun made the city sparkle, winking off the polished windows of the high rises, but the wind battered her – as only wind in Chicago could. Still, as she walked to the el station she felt energized for the first time since the enforcers had picked her up. As the el whisked her away from the financial district toward her first stop, she watched the view change. Every year, the city splurged on Christmas decorations for the main streets in the 'good' neighborhoods. The unadorned contrast of struggling areas only underlined one of her dad's first goals – to help people without options.
The first planned stop didn't require changing trains and she got off with the small crowd. But a glance from the platform told her this stop wouldn't be much help. The area near the station had been leveled sometime in the past decade and what replaced it was up to code. There wouldn't be a classic tumbler lock anywhere around here, only card or biometric access.
She walked past the block anyway, just to be thorough. Where the clinic had once been, she saw a dormant community garden blanketed by snow. She considered it a victory for the neighborhood. Healthy food was vital to a healthy body, she reminded herself, trying to think like her father as she returned to the platform and waited for the next train.
It was late and the light was fading when she reached the University of Chicago campus. This would have to be her last stop for the day and she sent up a prayer it would prove more productive than the others.
Hands stuffed in her pockets against the wind chill, she trudged along with students and figured she was blending pretty well. According to her cell card, the building she wanted was on the fringe of the campus. A less populated fringe if the thinning crowd was any indication. The wind whipped up, tugging at her hair, blotting out the sounds of life. She leaned into it and trudged on, passing a shiny new science center as she aimed for the older buildings behind it. A sense of vacancy and benign neglect filled the air as the wind was diverted by architecture. Her mood bordering on melancholy, she found the right building, but no sign marking the old clinic. She found the main entrance locked with an older push button system and the windows felt like so many blank eyes watching her as she circled around.
Giving herself a pep talk as the wind found her again, she tried to convince herself she'd find what she needed. She'd find the door that matched the key. Having to search wasn't a failure, only giving up.
She was fairly annoyed with her persistent chant of optimism when she turned a corner and saw the faded sign. Nearly illegible between age, snow, and poor lighting, she thought her mind was simply caving to the power of suggestion.
But she looked closer and smiled, feeling a fresh burst of energy bubble inside her when the logo and clinic name came into view. She lurched toward the door, dashing away tears induced by wind and hope with one hand and fumbling for the key with the other.
It was the right kind of lock. No push buttons, electric keypad, or biometric scanner. Her heart hammered in her chest and her mind raced over the possibilities.
A sound that was probably a security guard doing his rounds startled her, but she didn't s
ee anyone when she turned and searched the shadows. She paused, debating the wisdom of charging in without any information. Like diving blind into a shock victim or coma patient, there was some risk just barging into an abandoned building.
It was nearly full dark and the security light above the doorway blinked on, startling her as it glinted off the brass key.
She had to try. She looked around once more and satisfied she was alone, she slid the key into the lock. It slid home and she nearly shouted for joy. Then it stuck, unwilling to twist either direction, and her joy bubble popped. This wasn't the right door.
But when the damn bit of brass refused to come out, she considered throwing the mother of all hissy fits, security and witnesses be damned. She struggled with the key, heard another footfall on the slushy sidewalk, but refused to leave her only tangible clue to her father behind. Figuring she still looked young enough to make up some excuse about being sent out here by a professor, she kept at it and hoped she wouldn't have to lie.
Finally, by luck, friction, or divine intervention, the lock tumbled and the knob swiveled. She paused, suddenly uncertain. She hadn't considered an alarm system until this moment. As the moment stretched without a screaming alarm, flashing lights, or the sound of footsteps rushing in her direction, she relaxed.
The building seemed well and truly forgotten. Unless the system hadn't caught up with the breach. What if...?
She could stand out here and freeze all night long or she could get on with the matter at hand. Someone, her mother or the 'allies' Cleveland referred to, wanted her to find her father.
She nudged the door open and breathed a sigh of relief into the continuing silence. Waiting one more beat for the hammer to drop, she slipped through the opening and closed the door behind her. She was inside.
Leaning back, giving her eyes a chance to adjust to the dark, she chided herself for even trying to play this game. She wasn't cut out for this. Hell, she didn't even have a flashlight to look for whatever clue or evidence she was supposed to find.
The only consolation, aside from being out of the weather, was that no one had seen just how bad she was at all of this.