by Lyn Forester
“Drake, we’re going in here.” Reagen’s soft voice carries back to him.
He tears his gaze away from the room. Reagen and the doctor wait at a door halfway down the hall. He hadn’t realized they were so far ahead of him. A muffled crash, then shouts, comes from the flower room, and he resists the urge to look back.
Nothing he can do.
“This is the blood fever ward,” the doctor says when he joins them.
"Is it a temporary location?" Drake peers at the sign, handwritten and taped to the door off-center and crooked.
"The area's new to the sanitarium. Until a week ago, we'd only treated a couple people at a time. I don't know what Black Corp is doing, but I hope they fix the problem before we need a bigger space." She shakes her head and hesitates before she opens the door. "I must warn you, the blood fever affects everyone differently. We have nurses on hand if a patient become violent, but keep your guard up just to be safe."
The door swings inward and screaming fills the hall. The doctor walks into the room, unconcerned. Reagen glances at Drake from the corner of her eye, then squares her shoulders and steps inside, hands loose at her sides. The screams drive into his ears, stabbing needles of noise. He pats the holster beneath his arm, annoyed he had to surrender his psy-gun downstairs. With an irritated huff, he follows.
He runs his tongue ring against his teeth. The metal click inside his head drowns out some of the screeching.
Sheets hang from the ceiling to cordon off the large area into individual rooms with single beds. Nurses pace down the middle, their focus on the occupants. As the doctor leads them past, he notices most of the beds are empty, sheets folded into neat rectangles at the foot of each mattress.
Halfway down, though, he sees a woman strapped down with thick cords that crisscross her body and dig into her gray nightgown. Her mouth, a burnt, black cavern, stretches open as if the scream is a force pulled from her. It streams from her without pause for breath, until her face turns red to match her bulging, bloodshot eyes. When it stops at last, she remains rigid against her bonds, mouth still agape.
The silence is deafening in its wake, filled only with the quiet rustle of the curtains.
"She does that every hour, on the dot." The doctor murmurs as she ushers them past. "She's unresponsive to the sedatives we have. She won't last the week."
The curtain corridor ends in a large open space with tables and chairs similar to the flower ward. This one still has white walls, brilliant under the bright, overhead lights.
Two patients sit at a table together, emaciated bodies hunched forward. They deal cards to each other without a set count. The cards fall to the table, one after the other, until the entire deck lies spread out. Then gray-tinged fingers scrape them back into piles, and the process repeats.
At another table, a woman dabbles with paint. She smears the colors onto her plastic table until they blend into a muddy mess. Humming, she pushes the colors around more, then claps in excitement. Paint splatters onto her gray hospital gown.
The doctor leads them past more patients, to the back of the room where Margie sits in a rocking chair, tipping forward and backward and forward again. They cleaned her up, and her hair is brushed away from her face. It makes the sharp lines of her cheekbones more pronounced over the hollow pits of her cheeks. Her chapped mouth moves in repetition, puckering into an oh, straightens, then forms an oh again.
"Margie.” The doctor stops at her side, places a hand on the rocking chair and brings it to a halt. “You have visitors.”
Margie stares straight ahead as her feet push against the floor in useless effort. The doctor glances back at them and shrugs before she steps away to give them the illusion of privacy. The moment she leaves, the chair lurches into motion, faster, like Margie needs to make up for lost time.
Reagen, gaze on Drake, nods in Margie's direction. He steps forward, not sure why she wants him to start the questioning. Crouched outside of the rocker’s tilt range, he tries to catch Margie's attention. "Margie, do you remember me?"
Her eyelids flutter, but she gives no other hint she’s heard him. Her mouth continues to form shapes, oh-straight-oh. Slowly, so she has time to see the motion, Drake places a hand over the knobs of her knuckles. Again, the flutter, and her feet push at the floor with less force.
"Margie, my name's Drake. We met last night. Do you remember?"
Her head swivels, and the black streaks beneath her eyes stand out against her pallid skin as she studies his face. A few moments pass as the chair comes to a slow stop. In his periphery, Reagen steps forward, and he motions for her to wait. Margie blinks, blinks again, and a wide smile spreads across her face, full of gray gums and white teeth.
Gently, he squeezes her hand. Fragile bones creak under his touch. ”Margie, do you remember me?"
Her head bobbles up and down on a fragile neck. "You’re the pretty man who saved me."
"That's right." He inches closer. "Do you remember the night we met?"
Her head bobbles around. "I wouldn't forget, silly. Such a magical night."
"Can you tell me about it?"
She freezes, chin on her chest, and peeks at him through short lashes. "Don't you remember?"
"I remember some," he soothes as her foot flexes against the floor. "But we weren't together the whole night, remember?"
"Oh, that's right.” Her gaze drops to her lap, and she picks at the gray nightgown with one hand. "You left me after stealing a dance."
Confused, he shifts his gaze to Reagen without moving his head. The fingers of her left hand tap against her thigh as she frowns in thought. Then she stills and nods, then sways left and right, left and right, and mimics Margie’s mouth movement, shaping oh-straight-oh. It draws out a memory from Gr8 Games and Margie in the hall, swaying as she tries to dance her way past security.
He glances back to Margie, captures both her hands in his, and rubs his thumbs over her knuckles. "I'm sorry I left, but we met again later."
She stares at their linked hands and nods. "That's right, at the art show. But you showed up late and missed the main event."
He remembers the video feed from Reagen's phone, the glitter and lace and blood. "Can you describe what I missed?"
"You should have been on time." Her lower lip juts out, and she pulls her hands away to fold them up at her chest.
"I got the address wrong. I didn't mean to be late." He catches her accusatory gaze. "Please forgive me."
A gray tongue sneaks out to sweep across her chapped lips, and she smiles, then reaches for his hands. "I could never stay angry at a pretty face."
"It would mean a lot if you could describe what I missed."
Her eyes drift closed in thought. "A small moon lit the alley. And there were sparkles on the ground. So pretty, like stars. Then the artist made darkness."
"How did he make darkness?"
She bites on her lip, and blood seeps out of the cracks. Pity spikes through him as her eyes flicker open and drift around the room. They focus behind him, and she nods. "With paint, red all over his hands, smothering the sparkles. But he was shy. When he saw the other man, he ran away and left the art behind."
He straightens, alert. “What other man?”
“He was bulky.” She releases him to draw a square around her body. “And he had a hat on.”
“He’s the one that scared the artist away?”
“Yes.” Her brows furrow with confusion. “Why did he have a hat? It’s almost Summer-Cycle.”
He glances at Reagen, and she vibrates with tension. The dealer came through the alley after Chattle was murdered.
Drake tamps down on his excitement. “What happened after the artist left?”
Her eyes swivel back to him, bright with fever. The ruptured blood vessels in the left eye bleed around the pale blue of her eyes. She leans forward, grip tight on his hands until he feels the prick of nails digging in. "I went closer and found treasure."
"What kind of treasure?”
Her eyes narrow, and she leans away. "Why are you asking?"
”I want to know it's safe."
She rubs at the hollow recess of her stomach. "Don't worry, it's safe. Safe, safe, safe, safe."
"What did you do after you made the treasure safe?"
"I flew away. Up to the sky with the stars." Freezing, she looks around the room again, shoulders hunching forward. "But somehow I landed here. I should leave. It will be time soon. Soon, soon, soon."
Drake shuffles back as the chair rocks into motion once more. "Can you tell me about the artist?"
She leans back in the chair, mouth doing the oh-flat-oh thing as she mumbles soon to herself. He's losing her.
Reaching out, he places a hand on the chair to slow the rocking as he tries to regain her attention. "Margie, can you tell me what the artist looked like?"
Foot thrusting against the ground, she stares straight ahead.
"I think she's gone again,” Reagen murmurs.
Margie jerks at the sound. Her head rolls around on her neck until her eyes land on Reagen. She flinches back, squinting as she raises a bony hand to her face and shields her eyes. "Bright. Too bright. Why are the lights so bright? I need to leave."
"Margie, can I ask one more question before you go?" Drake tries again.
Eye shuttered, her gaze shifts to him, and she smiles. "Oh, have we met?"
"We met yesterday, remember?"
"No. No, no, no." Her head shakes, and greasy hair slides out from behind her ears to hang in her face. "I'd remember meeting someone so pretty. You're very pretty."
With a sigh, he shifts tracks. "I heard you saw an artist yesterday. I'd like to see his work too. Can you describe him for me?"
"The artist was very good." Her tongue clicks inside her mouth. "But he was hard to see. The moon wasn't very bright."
"Did you notice anything about him that would help me find him?"
"Hmm." Teeth bite back into her lip and break the new scabs that had begun to form. "When he looked at me, there was something weird about his eyes."
"What do you mean?"
"Not normal." She waves a hand in front of her eyes. “One brown and one green. But that's okay; the art was pretty. Though not as pretty as you. Do you like to dance? We should leave here soon."
When she smiles at him, red stains her teeth.
Helpless, he glances at Reagen. She stands frozen, eyes wide with shock. Her breath comes out in small pants as she stares at Margie.
He stands and goes to his partner. “Hey, what’s wrong?”
CAN’T GO BACK
I stare at the crazy woman as panic pings through my body. Drake’s presence registers distantly as I push the question out through a tight throat. “Did you say one brown eye and one green?”
Margie hums to herself, gone back to crazy land.
“Hey, talk to me.” Drake’s face fills my vision, eyes wide with concern. “Does that mean something to you?”
Sweat breaks out under my arms, and my head buzzes as blood rushes through my ears. I shove Drake out of the way and grab Margie by the arms. Her bones creak under my fingers as I shake her. “Did you see Chattle when he was alive?”
“Hey, calm down.” A hand pulls at my shoulder. Drake, the great distractor.
Margie squints up at me, her mouth puckered into an oh of surprise. She frowns and wiggles within my grasp. “Too bright, too bright.”
“Margie, focus.” I shrug to dislodge my partner and pull Margie from her chair. She sways on her tiptoes. “Were you there when the weird-eyed man started the artwork?”
“Reagen, let her go.” Drake hovers in my periphery, hands up but uncertain. “She’s fragile.”
Margie’s eyes roll in their sockets, her head flopping on her skinny neck. “Margie, did you see who killed William Chattle?”
The woman’s pale blue gaze snaps to mine with sudden clarity. “Murdered?”
“That’s right.” I gentle my grip and cup her elbows so her feet connect fully with the floor. “Did you see the murderer?”
“Blood. So much blood.” She gives a gray-stained smile. “He was pretty. Like glitter and candy.”
“Yes, that’s William Chattle.” I nod with encouragement. “Was he alive in the alley?”
“He turned me away.” I flinch back as her teeth snap at my face. “He shouldn’t have. It was time. Time, time, time.”
I release her and stumble back as she lunges forward. Her clawed fingers hook into my jacket. Drake slides behind her and tries to pull her away. She clings with madness-driven strength.
“Doctor, we need a sedative over here,” Drake yells toward the curtained rooms where Dr. Moore disappeared.
“He had the aphremore.” Margie shakes me, wild eyes fever bright. “He shouldn’t have lied.”
“Margie.” Drake’s hands close over her arms, less gentle. “Did you do something to him?”
“He shouldn’t have hidden it from me!” She shrieks, fetid breath rushing over my face. “I wouldn’t have searched so deep if he hadn’t lied!”
Loud footsteps pound toward us, and two white-uniformed nurses run into the room.
I stare in horror at the crazy woman. “Did you kill him?”
“So much red.” Air wheezes from her. The black veins beneath her eyes darken and crawl toward her neck. “Red paint. Paint that covered the stars.”
“Wait.” I wave a hand at the orderlies as one lifts a syringe from his pouch. My gaze locks with Margie’s. “What about the weird-eyed man?”
“The artist.” She grins and nods. “There was too much paint. He tried to put it back. But once it’s spilled, it can’t go back.”
My eyes move past Drake’s stunned expression to the white uniforms. “Get her off me.”
My partner moves out of the way as the nurses rush forward. One grabs the woman while the other stabs a syringe into her hip. I watch the light fade from her eyes, then her eyelids droop. She sags, fingers still clenched.
As they pull her away, her nails scrape against the thick material of my jacket.
Drake puts his back to the room and leans close to me. “She killed William Chattle.”
“Yeah.” A shudder ripples down my spine. Relief and horror mingle into a sour knot in my stomach. I shove the emotions into a box and lock them up. Calm flows through me. “But no court will put her on trial in her current state.”
“Yeah, she’ll never be convicted.” Drake’s eyes narrow in on my face. “What was all that about?”
My professional mask settles into place. “What are you talking about?”
“Don’t do that.” He points at my face and anger tints his cheeks red. “You recognized her description.”
“It doesn’t matter. It’s not relevant to our case.” I straighten my jacket. “We still need to find the main distributor before more Ash gets on the streets.”
I turn from his incredulous expression, heart fluttering. March is here, in Roen. An ache opens in my chest, and I fight down the panic. Japhrey won’t be far behind.
Are they here by chance?
Or have they finally found me?
Reagen and Drake’s Adventures will continue in:
Ash in the Blood
Ash floods the streets in the towering city of Roen. Blue Hall wants the deaths to stop. Black Corporation wants to maintain their contracts with the government and stop losing profit from the illegal distribution.
Investigator Reagen Thorpe has been saddled with Drake Esten of the mob. Together, they’ve been given the dubious task of cleaning up the mess. Since their only lead has blows up, they’ll have to work even harder to track down the clues that will lead them to the distributor.
But with the possibility of Reagen’s past catching up to her, will she stay in Roen? She already burned one bridge. Can she afford to make an enemy of Roen’s mob, too?
Reagen never wanted a partner, but as they venture further into the case, she will learn that sometimes being alone can be far more dange
rous.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Lyn Forester graduated with a Bachelor in English and an Associates in Graphic Design. She worked in the graphic design industry for ten years before deciding to pursue her other life long dream of becoming a writer. She grew up reading mostly fantasy books, though later in life found a love of urban fantasy and science fiction. She currently works from her home in Washington State where she squeezes in writing time around a busy schedule. When not working, she can be found experimenting with new recipes, reading, or playing video games and the occasional board game.
She loves talking to other readers. For recommendations, check out her Goodreads account and she’d love to hear from you on Facebook or via email at [email protected].