Touching Darkness

by Jaime Rush

  “You didn’t warn me that he looked like Lucas.”

  He narrowed his eyes. “You weren’t even supposed to know about Lucas.”

  She’d wandered over to the east wing of the asylum and discovered the prisoner. It had bothered her that he’d been burning with fever, no plans to get him help other than some mysterious injection her father had ordered Harry Peterson to give him.

  “Andrus is being temporarily moved into Nicholas’s suite while his quarters are being repaired from the fire. It was so hot it burned up into the floorboards. He’ll be back to his secured quarters soon.”

  “Is he dangerous?”

  “He’s got too much to lose to try anything. He’d go back to prison, and right now he’s hoping to get transferred out of the country once his assignment here is finished. He’s been a model prisoner. I expect nothing less here.”

  “He obviously has some…skill for you to go to the trouble and expense of bringing him here. Something you’re going to use against the Rogues.”

  He smiled. “Yes. But the specifics aren’t your concern.”

  “Yes, they are my concern.”

  His eyes widened. She hadn’t allowed him to dismiss her this time.

  She continued. “If I’m in danger, if what happened last night…if this touches me, my life, I’m entitled to know what’s going on here. You said I was the only one you could trust. Prove it.”

  His eyes narrowed, and his voice was low. “What do you want to know?”

  She couldn’t believe she was asking, “Do Fonda, Nicholas…the Rogues, do they have…psychic powers?”

  “Yes.”

  She sucked in a breath, hearing the word from her father, a man of logic.

  He picked up a piece of paper. “If that’s all—”

  “It’s not. I want to hear you confirm it. Jerryl could get into someone’s head and control them? Eric Aruda can set fires with his mind?”

  “Yes.”

  She put her hand to her chest. “You believe in this stuff?”

  “I not only believe it, I’ve put everything on the line for it. And I’m not the only one. Our government has dabbled in psychic experiments for decades. During the Cold War, the U.S. thought the Russians were way ahead of us in using psychic powers to spy. We had to protect ourselves, or at least those who were in high positions. A program ultimately called STAR GATE was bandied from agency to agency through the 1970s and 1980s before being dismantled. I started my own program.”

  “The one Nicholas’s father was in.”

  “Yes.”

  The secrecy, the reason the CIA director couldn’t know, why her father was spending his own money…she could hardly wrap her head around it. “And Nicholas, what is his special skill?”

  “Nothing deadly. He can find you anywhere. Are you wearing the crest pendant?”

  “Always, just as you told me to.” She automatically touched the pendant and felt the familiar grooves.

  “It’s not just a pendant. It has protective powers. A man who worked on the original project with me created it. Richard Wallace knew copper had protective properties against psychic energy.

  “I gave Wallace pennies that were minted in your birth year and mine. He melted them down and took them to a special place out West. He charged the metal in one of the energy vortexes of the earth and, using his own spectacular powers, imbued the metal with super-protective properties. I had them molded into the family crest and added the quartz crystal, also for personal psychic protection. It’s protected me over all the years I’ve worked with these people. It blocks them from remote-viewing me. Or you.”

  She squeezed the pendant in her hand. “What is DARK MATTER’s purpose?”

  “We find terrorists and we take them out.”

  “What about Sayre?”

  “That’s enough. I’ve got arrangements to make.”

  She walked to the door but stopped and turned back. If this stuff was real, Nicholas’s warning took on a whole new meaning. “What about Lucas? Can he see the future?”

  “That wasn’t his skill. So no, the premonition was a hoax, just as we suspected.”

  She left. The sound of hammering filled the air. Back in her office, she did an Internet search on Sayre Andrus’s name, trying two different spellings until she found newspaper articles on his trial.

  He had been convicted of strangling a woman to death. Just like in the nightmare. She got the creepy-crawlies as she read. Her hand went to her throat. He’d been described as charming, pleasant, a psychopath, evil…even by his own parents. She found articles written after the trial about both their deaths. Their claim to fame was their murderous adopted son, something cited in both stories. His mother had drowned in the tub, his father died in a car accident, both in the middle of the night.

  She closed the screen, unable to read any more. Yes, he was dangerous. Physically. But psychically as well?

  She went down to the kitchen to pour a glass of wine. At a sound, she turned to find Arturo Esteban, one of the guards, walking in. He nodded and took out a frozen entrée from the freezer.

  She nodded toward the box. “The Kashi ones are better.”

  He gave her a smile. “It’s for the prisoner.”

  “Oh.” She lingered long enough for the guard to set a bottle of Dr Pepper alongside the entrée on a tray and head out. She followed.

  When they turned the corner, she saw that her father’s office door was closed. This was the only chance she’d get to talk to Sayre Andrus before he was put back in the attic.

  Pressure squeezed her chest. Dare she disobey her father? Risk his wrath? She thought of the realization that had hit her when she was talking to Fonda. What was she without Daddy’s approval?

  She was still Olivia Darkwell but not the meek, obedient girl Nicholas had taken to task in the kitchen. She took a fortifying breath and stepped forward.

  Arturo paused when he saw her standing by the door. “No visitors.”

  “I’m not visiting. I need to ask him something. It’s business.”

  His eyebrows screwed up. “The guy’s weird. A woman shouldn’t be talking to a guy like that.”

  “Right now I’m a CIA employee, not a woman.” She gave him a forced smile. “You’ll be there, with your big, bad gun.”

  He glanced at her father’s door. She wasn’t about to let him check with his boss. She stepped into the room. Arturo followed and set the tray on a desk. Sayre’s gaze, however, was on her. He smiled broadly. “A visitor. Well, ain’t that sweet?”

  She walked up to him. “I wanted to meet the most dangerous man Darkwell’s ever brought aboard.”

  His hand sprang out so fast, Arturo pulled his gun. Sayre wasn’t the least bit bothered, giving the guard a recalcitrant look. “I was only being a gentleman.” He jangled the chain. “Like I could do anything.”

  “Put your hand down.”

  Sayre gave her a sad look. “Sorry, can’t show my manners.” His frown morphed into a smile. “So, I’m the most dangerous, eh?”

  She knew he’d like that. “And you’re the one who’s going to shut down those Rogues.”

  “Yes, ma’am. Bad dudes, they are. But you’ll be safe soon enough.”

  Arturo was listening, but she was sure he had no idea about Sayre’s special skills. Not that he’d believe it anyway. Olivia said, “I know what they can do. Get into people’s heads, set fires. Are you up for all that?”

  “You bet my balls, I am. Oh, sorry ’bout that. And in front of a lady yet. I am such a bad boy.” He tapped his face, jangling the chain again. “I’m used to being around prison guys. We don’t see beautiful ladies much.”

  She ignored his compliment. “I’m fascinated by all this stuff, especially what you can do.” She hoped he did something unusual to warrant her bluff. He probably did, considering her father had gone to a lot of trouble to bring him on board.

  He sat back and crossed his arms over his chest, his food untouched. He was much more interested in impr
essing her. “You wait and see, those Rogues will be history soon. I just found out I got a twin brother. He got to live with some nice guy in a nice house, and I got…well, I got pack rats with a house full of trash and cats and stuff.”

  “That must make you pretty angry.”

  He surprised her by waving it off. “I’ll get even. I got a direct line into my dear brother’s head. I’m going to get into his dreams and make him take out his friends. Ain’t that some poetic justice?”

  Get into his dreams.

  Before she could ask more, he reached up and dipped his finger into the hollow of his throat, rubbing it up and down—just like in her nightmare.

  Her nightmare about Lucas. But not Lucas. Someone who looked like Lucas.

  “I’d better go.” She stood so fast the chair tipped over. She went right to her father’s office and knocked.

  “Yes?”

  “Do you have a minute?” She was already walking in and closing the door behind her.

  “What’s the matter?” Obviously she looked upset.

  “I spoke to Sayre Andrus.”

  “You what?”

  “I know, I broke your rules.”

  “It’s not some arbitrary rule. The man is a psychopath.”

  “Yes, he is. But as you said, he won’t hurt me, not physically. He said he can get into Lucas’s dreams and make him do things.” She stood, bracing herself on the desk. “Can he?”

  “Yes.” Again, that simple yet astounding answer.

  She sank down in the chair, her legs weak. “Can he…get into my dreams?”

  That took him back for a second. “I suppose he could, in theory. But he wouldn’t.”

  “I think he did. I had a disturbing dream that woke me up the night I came downstairs and saw you burning the files. Though I couldn’t remember much, it gave me the creepiest feeling I’ve ever had. Last night I had another one. Lucas had me captive somewhere and was going to strangle me. I thought it was Lucas because I didn’t know about Sayre.”

  “He won’t do anything to risk his relative freedom here. Or, I suspect, what he thinks is his chance at escape once I’ve paid him. You’re letting all of this get to your imagination. Nicholas scared you with his warning and now, along with Jerryl’s death, it’s getting to you. I need you to be strong. For your country. For me.”

  He was pulling the “father” card again. For the first time, she actually saw it, clearly saw the way he manipulated her.

  “The man in my nightmare did this.” She mimicked what Sayre had done at the base of his throat. “Sayre did that, too, just now, like he was taunting me. He strangled a woman, like he was going to do to me in the dream. That man was in my dream.”

  “Sayre has never seen you until today. Has he?”

  She shook her head.

  “Then how would he know about you?”

  That stopped her cold. Good point.

  He set his pen down, a dark expression on his face. “Lucas is also a dreamweaver. That’s what I call those with the ability to get into dreams. But why would he start targeting you now? Unless…” His eyes narrowed. “Does Nicholas know you’re my daughter?”

  She couldn’t hide her response.

  “Hell.”

  “He guessed and, as you can see, I’m not good at hiding the truth.”

  “Lucas is targeting you because they’re trying to get to me through you. I hope all he wants is to taunt me.” He slammed his fist down on the desk. Then he looked at her throat. “Do you wear the pendant at night?”

  “I take it off before I go to bed. The chain broke once because I thrash around in my sleep.”

  “Don’t ever take off the pendant.”

  Her fingers stilled at the vehemence of his voice and the snarl of his mouth. “Will it keep someone from getting into my dreams?”

  “I hope so. I’ve only tested it on remote-viewing.” His eyes narrowed. “Dammit, you’ve made yourself vulnerable by revealing the truth.”

  “Vulnerable?” Panic fluttered in her stomach. “Can he make me do things while I’m asleep?”

  “As far as I know, and Lucas didn’t exactly tell me all about his skills, he couldn’t make someone do something. He could, however, kill someone in their dreams.”

  Her hand went to her throat. “How do I get him out?”

  “Wear the pendant.”

  “And if that doesn’t work?”

  Fear sharpened his gaze. “Then the only way to keep him out is to kill him. And we’re working on that right now.”

  She came to her feet and walked to the door.

  Her father was right, as always: How would Sayre know about her before they’d met in the hall the day before?

  She walked out and went into her office, pacing in front of the French doors. So it was Lucas getting into her dreams. But that didn’t feel right. He didn’t seem vicious. Well, what did she really know about human nature, especially where the Rogues were concerned? Look how she’d misjudged Nicholas.

  Her father’s voice echoed in her thoughts:

  You know I’m always right, don’t you?

  I know what’s best, you know that.

  Always right…

  Trust yourself. That was what Nicholas had told her. She sat down and closed her eyes.

  “Who is coming into my dreams?”

  Her father’s voice: Lucas.

  “I can only trust myself. Who is coming into my dreams?”

  Sayre.

  She knew it, felt it in her gut. Somehow, he had found out about her. Oh my God. When we met that first time, he said I was like a dream! Like when he’d stroked the hollow of his throat, he was taunting her. She was going to go tell her father but stopped. He was blind to the possibility. He believed in psychic abilities but not his daughter’s suspicions.

  If he was blind to that in his quest for justice, what else would he be blind to? More disturbingly, what was he willing to risk to preserve his program? My safety?

  She had seen him burning those files and not questioned it. She had seen him not doing anything to help when Lucas was at death’s door and not questioned it. She had seen her father cover up Jerryl’s death and not questioned it.

  She was as blind as he.

  She banged her fist against the glass. For as long as she could remember, she had been holding back her truth. Her questions, doubts. Because, as Nicholas had forced her into admitting, she didn’t want to lose her family or her identity. So who was she, then? A shadow of her father?

  What do I believe?

  If she believed Sayre was coming into her dreams…

  She swallowed, and that belief was a hard lump in her throat. She did believe.

  If she believed that, then she believed psychic abilities were real. Then it was possible Lucas had seen her getting strangled. As her father had said, it wasn’t as though Lucas was in a state of mind to share what his abilities were.

  Sayre Andrus had strangled one woman, maybe two.

  She was dreaming about Sayre strangling her.

  She shivered. The pieces were too much to ignore, not when she could clearly remember the fear on Nicholas’s face. He believed she was in danger. Now she did, too. The best thing to do was stay away from the estate, not only on Saturday, but until Sayre was gone.

  CHAPTER 23

  Like an animal senses an oncoming storm, Sayre picked up on a different energy in the air Friday evening. He watched from his window back in his room, where, in the shadows of dusk, men wearing black got into position. Since the fire alarm and the woman’s screams that morning, the house had been filled with the sound of reconstruction. Not to mention the stench of smoke and, he suspected, burnt flesh.

  Something big had happened, and it annoyed him not to know what it was.

  His mind was on other things tonight, though. Like Olivia. Damn, seeing her in person was a jolt to the balls. Then when she came in to talk to him…oh, yeah. He must have overwhelmed her, ’cause she hightailed it out of there real quick-like. H
e’d seen her when he’d probed Mr. Darkwell’s head. Interesting that the man was thinking of her.

  Sayre was going to have some mind-blowing sex with her, then he was going to kill her, right under Mr. Darkwell’s nose. His gaze went to the shadows where he couldn’t see the men in black now. They were a complication, sure. Not a deterrent.

  He studied the landscaping below his window. Odd-shaped bushes led a zigzag path to the hedges along the wall. At the front corner were bars, and he was good at getting through small spaces. He had the cunning of an animal, too. The trick was to move very, very slowly, like a sloth. Those guys were looking for movement, sound.

  He waited until midnight and drifted into the darkness of his mind. First, pay a visit to my favorite gal.

  He slipped right into her dream about some guy and cakes. He changed the dream. Now they were in the woods, and she was kissing on the guy, only the guy became him. She opened her eyes and yelped, jumping back.

  He pulled her back. “You love kissing me. Don’t you?” he said between kisses.

  She helplessly nodded.

  He pushed back the straps of her dress and it fell to the ground. “It’s been a long time since I’ve had some good sex. You’re going to give it to me, aren’t you?”

  Again she nodded, her eyes filled with terror.

  He looked in her eyes, leaning closer, closer, and then merging with her. He opened his eyes—her eyes—and saw a sleigh bed. He made her look down. She was wearing silky pajamas. He made her bring her hand up to one of her breasts. He was hard, throbbing with anticipation.

  Oh, the things we’ll do.

  He’d toyed enough, though. He didn’t want to use up his energy. He made her get up and walk out to the living room. It was a nice place, earth colors, statues in various niches, including Rodin’s The Kiss.

  Look for mail.

  She walked to a small desk and pulled out a square basket filled with envelopes. She picked one up, and he looked at a Woodbridge, Virginia, address. He walked her back to bed and pulled out.

  He stripped, folded the dirty clothes into neat squares, and set them in his hamper. He watched television (he loved crime television) and ate nuked popcorn. At exactly four o’clock, he settled back on the couch and probed the mind of the guard posted outside his door. Just as he thought, the guy was asleep.