by King, R. L.
“Well,” Whitcombe said at last, “I’ll tell you up front that I think it’s a bad idea. But there isn’t any regulation against it. Technically he is allowed visitors under controlled circumstances—we’re just trying to limit it to family only, aside from attorneys and other professional personnel.”
Jason nodded. “Trying to keep the media out mostly, I’d imagine.”
Whitcombe looked surprised. “Yes,” he conceded. “Media and—the curious.” He sighed. “Like I said, Wakowski speaks highly of you, Mr. Thayer, so against my better judgment, I’m going to allow this. You’ll have fifteen minutes, no more.” He stood. “Follow me, please.”
Jason and Stone followed the lieutenant out of the office and down a hall through the main lobby of the building. “Guess Stan came through with his friend in Boston,” Jason whispered to Stone.
Whitcombe took them through the lobby and out the other side. At the end of a long hallway he opened the door to a room with a table, three chairs, and a tiny reinforced window set into the door. “Wait here,” he told them. “You understand an officer will need to be present, and you are not permitted any physical contact with the prisoner.”
“Of course,” Stone said. “Thank you, Lieutenant.”
It was about ten minutes before the door to the room opened again. Whitcombe came in first, followed by a chubby young man in an orange jail-issue coverall. His hands were cuffed in front of him, his ankles chained together so his walk was more of a shuffle. He stared at the floor, so they couldn’t get a good look at his face. Behind him waited a uniformed officer, who guided him to the single chair on one side of the table and motioned for him to sit down. He did so without looking up.
“Fifteen minutes,” Whitcombe said again, and left the room. The uniformed officer stationed himself in front of the door.
Stone immediately leaned forward from the other side of the table. “Dwight,” he said gently. “You don’t know us, but we’re trying to determine what happened the night Eleanor Pearsall died. My name is Alastair Stone, and this is Jason Thayer.”
The young man did not look up.
“We’d like to ask you a few questions, if we may. We don’t have long to talk with you, so I hope you don’t mind that we’ll get right to it.”
“I’m sorry...I’m so sorry...” Dwight whispered. “I—”
“You said you didn’t mean to do it,” Stone said. “What do you mean by that, Dwight?” Stone’s voice was even, soft, almost hypnotic.
The young man did look up then. His eyes behind thin-framed glasses were watery, his entire face a mask of misery and despair. “I—I keep trying to tell them—it wasn’t me.”
“You say you didn’t do it?” Jason asked.
Dwight looked conflicted, stricken. “Yes—no. I mean—my body did it. I know that. But—my brain—didn’t.” He started to cry. “You aren’t gonna believe me. Nobody believes me. I guess I don’t blame them...”
“We believe you,” Stone said in the same soft, hypnotic tone. “Tell us, Dwight. Tell us what happened that night.”
Dwight took a deep breath. He pulled his manacled hands up out of his lap and put them on the table, wringing his fingers with obvious unease. “Why—why would they let you guys come to talk to me? Is this some kind of messed-up joke?”
“We’re just trying to understand,” Jason said. “That’s all. Please tell us, okay?”
Dwight shrugged. “It doesn’t matter...” he whispered. “I’ll tell you what I told them, and you won’t believe me either, and nothing will change.” He looked up, meeting first Jason’s eyes and then Stone’s. “We—we’d just finished our rounds. We—Kurt and me—we’d drive around to check on things and then go back to the Alpine Chalet to watch TV. There—there’s never really anything to find, no crime or anything.”
“Were you smoking that night?” Jason asked.
There was a long pause, and Dwight didn’t meet his eyes. “Yeah, a little. Kurt too.”
“Just pot? You sure it wasn’t anything harder?”
That time he did look at Jason. He shook his head. “No, man. Never. Never anything harder. Just a little weed, is all.”
“What happened then?”
Dwight swallowed. “We got a call, on the radio. From—Ms. Pearsall.”
“Was she in trouble?”
“She said she heard something inside the store. She—sounded scared. Wanted us to come check it out for her.”
“And you did that?” Stone asked.
“I—” He looked down at his hands.
“Dwight?”
“This is the part you’re not gonna believe,” he said, his voice bleak.
“Like we said, try us,” Jason said. He glanced down at his watch—not much time left.
“When we—when we got to the back door to Hillerman’s, I felt something. It was weird—like some kind of—really bad lightheadedness. And then after that—” His breath picked up and his hands began to shake. Beads of sweat broke out on his wide forehead. He looked up at the two of them. “It was like—I was a passenger in my own body. Like—something else was in there with me, and it was driving.”
“Driving?” Stone asked. “You mean—you felt as if you weren’t in control of your body?”
“Yeah,” Dwight whispered. “Like I was moving, but something else was making me move. But—it was like whatever it was, it was using me. Using my brain. Picking through it.” Tears formed in his eyes. “I watched myself—talking to Ms. Pearsall—going around the store, looking for whatever noise she’d heard—but somehow I knew there wasn’t a noise. Because—”
“Because what?” Jason asked quietly.
“Because—whatever it was she’d heard—they made it happen. So she’d call us.” Now he began sobbing in earnest, but he kept talking as if he felt he had to get this out. “I know, you won’t believe me. I hate myself so much. I want to die. I want to kill myself, like Kurt did, but I was too chickenshit to do it then and now I can’t.”
Stone leaned forward. “So you’re telling us that—whatever you claim took you over, it made the noises inside Hillerman’s to cause Ms. Pearsall to call you over there?”
Dwight nodded. “While I was going up and down the aisles—pretending to look for the sound—I grabbed a knife from the kitchen department. Or—it made me grab one. I didn’t want to. I didn’t want to...” He lowered his head again, sobbing.
Jason tapped his watch and looked meaningfully at Stone. Not much time left, he mouthed.
Stone nodded. “Did you know it meant for you to kill her?”
“I—I think I did. I tried to fight it, but...I couldn’t. I just couldn’t.”
“Whatever this is—do you know if it did the same thing to Kurt?”
“It did... He had another one...like the one inside me. He never even tried to stop me when I stabbed her. I wish he had. I wish he had...Maybe he’d have killed me, and Ms. Pearsall wouldn’t have had to die.”
Stone leaned forward a little more. “Dwight...you’ve been very helpful. Thank you for talking with us. There’s no need for you to relive what happened to Ms. Pearsall. But I would like you to answer one more question for us, if you can. It’s very important.” When Dwight didn’t answer, he went on, “This thing you claim was inside you, forcing you to do these things—do you have any idea why it wanted you to kill Ms. Pearsall? Did it give you any impression of that? Anything at all?”
There was a knock at the door. The uniformed officer opened it to admit Lt. Whitcombe. “That’s time, guys,” he said.
“Just one moment, please, Lieutenant,” Stone said without taking his eyes off Dwight. “Dwight? Can you answer that?”
Dwight thought about that for several seconds, squeezing his eyes shut. He shook his head. “No...no...Nothing. I’m sorry. I don’t—” He shook his head violently back and forth.
&
nbsp; “That’s enough, gentlemen,” Whitcombe said more insistently. “Let’s go.” The uniformed officer moved over to stand behind Dwight, intending to help him up.
Reluctantly, Stone and Jason rose. “All right. Thank you, Dwight, for your time,” the mage said.
The two of them turned to follow Whitcombe out of the room when suddenly Dwight spoke again, more loudly. He seemed to be in the grip of an interior struggle.
“Wait! I remembered something. It wasn’t me, it was Kurt—but—right before it made us kill her, he said something like—now aren’t you sorry you didn’t join us?”
Chapter Six
Jason and Stone got out of there as fast as they could after that, and were soon heading back toward Woodwich. They’d managed to act casual enough to convince Lt. Whitcombe that they were disappointed with what Dwight had told them, that clearly the man was insane and all of this stuff about something else driving his brain were the ravings of a sick man. The cop told them that the ‘aren’t you sorry you didn’t join us?’ part was new—they hadn’t heard that before. But he didn’t seem to place must emphasis on it; it was merely more evidence that something had snapped in Dwight’s mind.
“We’re still waiting on tox screens,” he told them. “I’ll be very surprised if we don’t find out there was something other than pot in what they were smoking.” They made noncommittal noises suggesting agreement, thanked him, and left.
“I don’t get it,” Jason said when they were back in the car. “Why kill mages who don’t even know they exist? I guess they might see you guys as a threat if you started getting organized, but so far they haven’t seen any sign of that because it isn’t happening. Right?”
“Not that I know of,” Stone confirmed. “As far as I’m aware, aside from who knows how many Forgotten, we and Verity are the only people who know of the Evil’s existence. And even we don’t know bloody much when it comes right down to it.” The last sounded bitter and resigned.
Jason sighed. “We’re gonna have to tell somebody, Al. You know that, right?”
Stone nodded. “I know. But the trick is figuring out who, and how. You know as well as I do that if we let this out to the wrong people, it could be disastrous.”
“Shouldn’t you at least tell the other mages to watch out?” he asked. “If somebody’s going around trying to kill them, they should probably be on their guard, right?”
“And I should tell them what, exactly?” Stone said with a frown. “‘Pardon me, but you’d best watch your back because some evil invisible extradimensional bodysnatcher is trying to kill you’?”
“They might believe you.” Jason shrugged. “They’d have a better chance than the general public, right? And anyway, you wouldn’t have to tell them about the Evil. But just suggesting they watch out for themselves is a good start, right? I mean, can’t most of them take care of themselves if they’re expecting trouble?”
“Good point,” Stone said. “That can’t do any harm, and at least it might prevent any more deaths.”
Ten minutes later they rolled back into Woodwich.
They found Verity and Sharra bonding over pepperoni and onions at the downtown pizzeria. They were almost done, but Stone and Jason sat with them and split another pizza, forcing themselves to talk about safe topics following a meaningful glance at Verity to inform her that they’d fill her in later. Verity proved helpful with this: she spent the remainder of the time telling Stone about new spells Sharra had suggested that she wanted to learn, causing him to roll his eyes indulgently and sigh.
“Verity, you can barely levitate a pencil yet. Let’s leave the pyrotechnic displays for next week, shall we?”
It seemed like forever before Sharra announced that she had to be going. Verity seemed quite taken with her and sorry to see her go, but she promised to keep in touch. After goodbyes all around, Verity leaned in toward Stone and Jason. “Okay, so what happened? Did you find out anything useful?”
“Yes,” Stone said. “It was definitely the Evil’s doing. The police think he’s insane, which is probably a good thing for him since it’s unlikely they’ll execute him for it. He’ll doubtless be confined to a mental institution until we can get the whole Evil situation sorted, but that’s better than the needle. It’s probably a good thing they’re keeping him under wraps, given that the Evil that possessed him is probably still in there somewhere—though it seemed oddly inert, all things considered.” He looked troubled. “What concerns me more is his comment about what Kurt said: ‘Now aren’t you sorry you didn’t join us?’”
“He said that?” Verity asked, surprised. They left the restaurant and headed to the car.
Jason nodded. “Do the Evil recruit? I didn’t think they really gave people a choice when they possessed them.”
“I still maintain that they can’t possess mages against their will,” Stone said. “Perhaps one of them tried to possess her, and she was able to block it.”
“But why would they want to possess her?” Verity asked. “What use would they get out of a nice middle-aged lady mage out in the middle of the sticks? I can’t think of anything they’d gain from that. If they wanted a mage, wouldn’t they go for one in a bigger area? And you said she was a real white mage—wouldn’t they want somebody a little more—I dunno—in line with what they’re into?”
“Good questions,” Stone said. “All good questions. I’ll need to give this some more thought.”
“We still don’t even know if the Evil are all over the place,” Jason pointed out. “Lamar and those guys back home said they think they concentrate with one big cheese sort of running the show for an area, but we don’t even know how many of them there are. If there are enough that every little wide-spot burg in East Bumfuck can have its own local fan club, then we’re really screwed. There’s no way we can fight that, even if we could convince other people that it’s happening and manage not to get ourselves locked up in the padded cell next door to Dwight’s.”
They collected their gear at the motel, settled up the bill, and headed out. The trip back to Lowell was uneventful and, after a brief pause to tell the minister at the church about the service, they were back through the portal and stepping out into the basement room of A Passage to India. At least Stone and Jason were. Once again, Stone insisted on putting Verity to sleep before they started. “I told you,” he said when she made noises about wanting to give it another try, “I’ll work on figuring this out when we get back. It might be as simple as putting up another kind of block. But we can’t afford a mishap right now.”
Once Stone got Verity awakened, David let them out the restaurant’s back door so they wouldn’t attract attention during the lunch rush carrying their bags. The car was right where they’d left it; about half an hour later they arrived safely back at Stone’s rented house in Mountain View.
“Now what?” Jason asked after they’d stowed their stuff and met up back around the kitchen table.
“Good question,” Stone said. “I’d best warn the other mages at the funeral to be on watch for things trying to influence them mentally. I still don’t feel comfortable letting the whole Evil secret out yet, but if I don’t warn them to watch out for something that might try to get into their heads, and more of them end up dead—” He shook his head ruefully. “Aside from that—we go on, I guess. Not really a lot else we can do right now with the information we have—we can contact the Forgotten around here and see if they have any ideas, but aside from that I’m fresh out. I can put out a few feelers to see if this is happening anywhere else, but we still don’t know if there’s any bigger plan behind the Evil’s killing Eleanor. It could just be an isolated incident.” He spread his hands. “We go on. Verity continues to study magic, I try to figure out why she’s got such a problem with the Overworld, and—” He trailed off.
“Yeah...” Jason said with a sigh. “And.” He was the only one of the three who didn’t have a
clear plan. “I think I need to go down to Ventura for a few days. I gotta pick up my stuff from my old apartment before they sell it—I’m only paid through the middle of the month, and it’s not like I’m going back. And I really need to find a job, too. I don’t like freeloading, and no offense, Al, but I think you and I will kill each other if we have to live together for too much longer.”
“None taken,” Stone said cheerfully. “I’m not exactly the communal sort, and I get the feeling you aren’t either.”
“What about me?” Verity asked, looking back and forth between them. “Where do I go if you move out?”
“With me, if you want,” Jason said, surprised. “What, you think I’d leave you on your own? I just figured we’d get a place together unless you get a job and decide whether you want to get your own apartment once you’re eighteen. I have to admit, I’d feel a lot better if we stuck together for a while.”
Verity looked at Stone questioningly, and the mage nodded. “Makes sense to me. Honestly I don’t plan on keeping this place much longer. It’s a little—suburban for my tastes. I’m already missing my place in Palo Alto. And it would look a bit—erm—dodgy for you to be living with me, especially if Jason moves out. People would talk. But,” he added, “it’d probably be best if we found something relatively close to each other, given that Verity will be spending a lot of time at my place for her studies. If you like, I’ll check the boards up at Stanford—there are always students trying to get out of their leases for whatever reason. Not the fanciest places, but they’re usually not too expensive either.”
Jason nodded. “Lemme know if you see any jobs that might work for me, too. Preferably something where I can pick my own hours. Security work, bouncer, fixing cars or bikes, anything like that. Hell, I’ll take a janitor job if it’ll help me pay the bills.”
“I can get a job too and help out,” Verity offered.