by Hadena James
“No, they were not. Some years ago, when he first joined the FBI, he had to fill out a form to give someone power of attorney in case of emergencies. He put me down. If you call, they will release the information immediately because I have already listed you as his primary care doctor.” I sighed again, much deeper.
“That’s a little bit devious,” Xavier blinked at me.
“It was necessary.” I shrugged. “Also, you should check Caleb Green’s med records.”
“Why Caleb?” Xavier asked.
“He is a psychopath too.” I released the secret that Malachi had told me after our trip to Detroit with little consideration for Caleb’s feelings. It served a higher purpose and I believed in serving the greater good. Gabriel was digging out his phone. He made two phone calls, before putting it away. Both seemed to be to important people, based on his usage of the word “sir” in the conversations.
“You’ll have both sets of medical records within the hour. They are going to be faxed to the Marshals building,” Gabriel informed Xavier. “I hope to hell you aren’t right, Ace. Tribal laws are going to turn this into a fiasco.”
“Why punish a nation for one bad egg?” I asked. Sometimes, societal uproar made no sense to me.
Twenty-Two
Xavier sat at a large conference table, papers strung out around him. He was comparing Caleb Green, Malachi Blake, and my own medical records, looking for anything that might jump out as strange. While two psychopaths and one almost psychopath was not a huge case study, it was the best we had available at the moment.
Once in a while, he would circle something or make a grunting noise. I was trying not to look over his shoulder. I desperately wanted to see what comments and circles existed on the pages.
Fiona was off bushwhacking her way through cyberspace for some trace of Alejandro Gui. The man had more classified information than public and since leaving the Marshals, it didn’t look like he had used a credit or debit card. Or sent mail. Or anything else that might leave a trace. It was as if he had vanished.
Gabriel and Lucas were off playing nice with the tribal police. Gabriel, in the spirit of cooperation and manipulation, was going to share all the information we had on the present killings with them. Lucas had gone along to help.
That left me, sitting with Xavier. I’d been sitting for nearly three hours. The wait was killing me. My ability to bury my head in a book had deserted me. Making a production of it, I walked out to smoke a cigarette. If Xavier noticed, he didn’t acknowledge it.
The afternoon air was cool, raising goosebumps on my arms, despite the jacket. The wind was steady and cold, blowing against my back as it came from the northeast. Thick, black clouds hung heavy in the sky, pregnant with rain and destruction. As I lit my cigarette, I watched a few of them.
The clouds that caught my attention were not the heavy black clouds that moved en masse across the sky, but smaller ones. They had dropped below their brethren to dance and swirl in the lower atmosphere. They defied the laws of atmospheric winds by moving with the wind that blew at my back, not the winds that pushed the heavy rain clouds from the northwest.
Sunlight still shown, struggling to maintain light on a world that was about to be hit with rain. The upper clouds moved slowly and ominously towards the light. Once they covered it, it would be as dark. It didn’t matter how powerful the sun was, it would lose the battle with the storm clouds.
Having spent a majority of my life in Missouri, I had watched storms roll in before. The Midwest was infamous for the phenomenon. This storm was no different from any of the others. Giant wall clouds formed the front line, reaching up into what seemed like infinity. In front of these clouds was the wind, bitter and brutal, as the front continued the arduous journey. Behind the wall of clouds would be heavy rainfalls, lightning, thunder, and maybe some hail. The air currents would move a little faster, forced down by the heavy clouds, making the wind as dangerous as anything else the storm had to offer.
The emergency alert tone went off on my phone. I had no need to look at it, since the thunderstorm was before me. The first boom of thunder vibrated through my body. The air took on a new smell, not just the smells associated with cities, but also a musky smell.
Rain forced odors down, cleansing the world of its artificial smells. When people said it smelled like rain, it was really the absence of other smells. For me, rain did have a smell. A musky scent tainted with metals, no different from a glass of water.
There were very few people out tonight. The approaching storm had them staying indoors, sheltered from the rain and wind. The few still out, walked quickly, heads down, with a look of sheer determination.
The lights from the buildings were shining out onto the pavement now. Darkness coming faster than the setting sun would have liked. The movement within these puddles of light caught my attention first.
His features were invisible, but his body wasn’t. Long legs, covered by black denim with cowboy boots barely visible where the denim stopped, and a long torso, visibly muscled despite the polo that covered it. He was impressively tall, taller than Malachi by at least a handful of inches. He was meandering, not hunkering down, looking for shelter. His steps were even, but they were slow, as if he was window-shopping. He stopped and lit a cigarette, holding it cupped in his hand, just in case it started to rain.
I considered my options. I could approach him or I could call for Xavier and follow him. My brain weighed the two, checking off the list of pros and cons for each. He turned, and his eyes caught mine, so I realized I had no options. He was there for my benefit. He had somehow known I was going to be in this spot. He was baiting me.
The logical side of my brain told me to go inside. The impulsive side told me to go get him. The impulsive side won out. I tossed my cigarette onto the ground, half smoked and still smoldering, and started across the street.
A car honked at me as I jaywalked, but I ignored him instead of giving him a one-finger salute. The tall man was becoming clearer, his features visible. He had a roundish face, pasty and sick looking. However, he laughed as the car honked at me a second time and the laugh belied his look. The deep, rich laugh made my gut tighten. It was full of bass that rumbled in a person’s insides. I’d heard it before. Somehow, Alejandro had become a tall white guy.
I forced myself not to run, even though that was exactly what I wanted to do. However, I did pick up the pace, walking faster than normal. I was within a few feet when he flicked his cigarette at me. The cherry caught my forehead and sparks rained down on me. The tall man began to walk. He didn’t need to walk fast, because his stride was twice my own. He would easily lose me at the rate I was moving. I gave into instinct and began to run.
To my surprise, so did he. His footfalls were heavy on the concrete, much louder than my own. His stride lengthened and I gave it my all just to keep him in sight. He turned a corner. I arrived a few seconds later. He was gone. I stopped running and looked around. There were no cars sitting around with a person in them. I swore under my breath and brought up my phone.
The needle slipped under my skin. I could feel the burn as the liquid entered my flesh. I jerked and felt the needle withdraw. Turning, I found myself face to face with the tall man. His eyes were blue. His face looked even paler and rubbery up close. He smiled and it was pure malice that shown through.
Like a snake striking prey, his hand was suddenly around my throat. He lifted me from my feet, the smile widening, while his eyes sparkled. I clawed at the hand. The flesh felt strange, unreal.
“Don’t worry, Aislinn Cain,” he hissed my name, “it only lasts a few minutes.”
Something was happening to my vision. I was expecting spots to start appearing. Instead, the world was beginning to look like someone had painted it with primary colors. The distant buildings shimmied and shook. I reached for my baton and heard more hissing. I dropped it and watched the snake roll away from me.
“What the fuck did you…” I didn’t finish my sentence. His f
ace distorted. The pasty appearance now looked like grease paint and I was being dangled in the air by a giant, evil clown. His lips moved, but the words didn’t make sense. My brain felt like it was going to explode. There were other noises too, but I didn’t know what they were. My body thudded, hitting something hard, diamonds floating through the air around me. The world smelled of cotton candy and sweat.
A small green and orange goblin grabbed hold of me. Again, his lips moved, but he spoke a foreign language. I fumbled at my waist, reaching for anything to help me fend off the troll. I found a cupcake and hit him with it in the shoulder. The goblin crumbled to the ground, but there were other goblins behind him. Dozens of them and dragons with tan skin and sharp teeth stood between the goblins. I looked for another weapon and came up with a balloon. A balloon would be useless against them. I tossed it away. My Batmanesque utility belt was quickly running out of stuff. I pulled at a ball under my arm. I didn’t know why I had a baseball under my arm, but I did. I threw it at the closest troll. A second one was under my other arm; I threw it at a dragon.
There was something very wrong with the world. I moved, vomited, moved again, vomited some more, then a dragon grabbed hold of me. I struggled, but a goblin joined the melee, grabbing my feet. Together, they managed to use magic to hold me down.
Twenty-Three
My arms and legs were strapped to the bed. I’d been yanking on the restraints for several minutes with no success in loosening them. It was obvious I was in a hospital, but I wasn’t sure how I’d gotten there.
Of course, there was something seriously wrong with my memory at the moment. I remembered something about a clown, goblins, and dragons attacking me. Since none of these creatures was real, I wasn’t sure why I remembered them. In the past, I had some very vivid dreams that had turned themselves into memories. I wondered if that was what had happened with this one.
I also wondered if the tumor was back and in a more dangerous area. I didn’t know how or why I was here. I especially didn’t understand the restraints.
Xavier walked in wearing a sling and a shirt with a hole in the shoulder. He was frowning at me. I frowned back.
“Are you with us?” He asked.
“I do not know. I am not sure whether this is the dream or if the clown attack was a dream.”
“Clown attack?” Xavier sat down. “What exactly do you remember?”
“I remember being attacked by a large clown and then he disappeared and I was surrounded by goblins and dragons. Now, I am here and I am in restraints. Did I have a psychotic break?” I asked. “What happened to your arm?”
“You happened to my arm. You were screaming in German when I found you, I tried to talk to you and you stabbed me.” Xavier looked at me for a moment. “What does kleiner Kuchen mean?”
“Small cake,” I answered. My mind remembered me hitting a goblin with a cupcake, but I wasn’t sure how that translated to the current situation with Xavier.
“Okay, well, you pulled a knife from your belt, looked at it, said kleiner Kuchen, like it was weird and then stabbed me,” Xavier said. “Since you are speaking in English, I’m guessing the LSD is out of your system. I’m not inclined to release you from the restraints though because you stabbed me.”
“Wow, so that is what a bad trip is then, being attacked by clowns, goblins, and dragons. If it makes you feel any better, I thought you were a goblin and I was hitting you with a cupcake.”
“It doesn’t. I’m just glad you decided to throw your guns at people instead of shooting them. Your weaponry has been collected. Do you remember anything about the event other than goblins and dragons?”
“The clown,” I said. “He was holding me by the throat, and then he just vanished. Why would I have a clown mixed with goblins and dragons? Oh, and the world smelled of cotton candy.”
“We found cosmetic latex and grease make-up under your fingernails. There was some DNA, but not enough to get even a partial match on. Whoever attacked you was wearing a disguise. If I had to guess, your brain turned him into a clown once it realized he was wearing a mask. You also got a dose of belladonna. Like some of the other victims, he stabbed you in the neck. Unlike the other victims, you survived. The belladonna dosage was lower than anyone else received. He wanted you to suffer the wrath of the LSD first. They are going to keep you for another day,” Xavier finished.
“Another day?” I asked.
“Yeah, it’s been two already. Malachi is still in ICU, but he’s showing signs of recovery. And you were right, you all share blood abnormalities. You’re the only one that has suffered from muscle death, but both Malachi and Caleb had healed some significant injuries, injuries that in my professional opinion should have killed them.” Xavier stood up. “So, your theory, while still way out in left field, might not be impossible.”
“Xavier, I am sorry I stabbed you,” I said.
“You had a bad trip, it happens. With you, I would have been surprised if it had been a good one. It’s really not your fault.” Xavier stared at me for a minute. “Ace, the tall man targeted you for a reason. I need you to think back, before the LSD took effect. I need to know what you remember before the clown.”
“I’m not sure I remember anything before. I went out to smoke a cigarette and woke up here.”
“LSD and belladonna can both make an impact on your memories. We have another dead woman though and you have seen him up close. Even with a mask, we need to know those details. Try to remember.” Xavier turned to leave. “It was getting ready to thunderstorm when you went missing.”
He left, leaving me restrained to the bed. I didn’t remember anything before the trip started or after I arrived here. It was really irritating. My memory was the key and I couldn’t access it.
I closed my eyes. It had been about to storm. There was a flash of a giant wall cloud, moving towards the city. A cold wind blew against my back, making my cigarette cherry very bright in the quickening dark. There had been people, but not many, not like the days prior. I had imagined they were taking shelter from the storm. The flash ended. The tall man hadn’t been there yet.
My throat was sore. My mouth was dry. I needed a drink. The buzzer was near my hand. I wiggled until I had it.
It wasn’t a nurse that answered my call, but a doctor. She was tall, attractive, and had a heavy-set, athletic build. She had a chart in her hands that she was looking at.
“Well, Marshal Cain, you were very lucky. Dr. Reece guessed you had been poisoned with belladonna and LSD and he was right. It probably saved your life. How do you feel?”
“I am thirsty.” That was the understatement of the century. My mouth was gritty, the skin of it sticking to my teeth. My throat felt raw.
“LSD will do that to you, even if it is injected into your spinal column. I’ll make sure you get something to drink. Think you can eat?” She asked. My stomach growled loudly at the question. “I’ll have some food brought to you as well and we’ll get the restraints removed. We’re still treating you for dehydration as well as the belladonna poisoning. I’ve never had a patient that reacted as violently as you did with either drug in their system. Do you remember the hallucinations?”
“Somewhat,” I shook my head. “It’s still fuzzy.” I wanted to rub my throat.
“Okay,” she stepped outside. A police officer and a security guard entered the room. She came close to me and removed the restraints. I rubbed at my wrists. They were raw. I had been struggling before I became conscious. This was confusing. How long had I been awake, but not aware? What had caused it? I wanted to ask, but I was done talking until I got something to drink. “Your food and drinks will be here soon.” The doctor left, as did the guard and police officer. They closed the door behind them.
I spent a moment untangling the wires before swinging my feet onto the floor. My legs felt a little wobbly. There were marks on my ankles. I ignored these as I hobbled to the bathroom.
One hand turned on the knob, while the other made a cup to catch
the water. I drank several sips like this. My throat still hurt. I dared a look in the mirror.
When you’re a sociopath, mirrors are iffy things to begin with. For me, I was always surprised by the reflection. Logically, I knew it was me, but it didn’t seem to be me. There was a disconnect somewhere.
This time was no different. The person staring back at me was a stranger. But this stranger had some cuts on her face and a large bruise on her neck. I could make out a thumb on one side and fingers on the other. The underside of the chin was also bruised. I had seen this exact bruising pattern before. Someone had lifted me up by my throat. My guess was it was the tall man, but I didn’t remember him doing it.
I punched the mirror, rage taking over for a moment. My goal was to remove my reflection from my view and it worked as the mirror exploded. Tiny pieces of glass rained down into the sink. My mind latched onto the image of diamonds flying around me, they were moving in slow motion in my memory. The flash continued; my body floating. The clown had done something, thrown me maybe. I didn’t need to remember the clown. I needed to remember the person behind the clown.
The police officer rushed into the bathroom. He looked at me. I looked at the broken mirror.
“I was getting a drink and slipped. I put my hand up to stop myself from falling and broke the mirror,” I lied.
“Yeah, we’ll go with that,” he laughed. It made me shiver. He wasn’t tall, but his laugh rocked his body, a belly laugh that was deep and rich. I had gone after the tall man. He’d been across the street from me. As I had dodged being hit by a car, he had laughed. Deep, rich, and full bodied, the laugh had reminded me of Alejandro.
The wall cloud had been moving towards the city. People had been trying to get off the streets, ahead of the storm. The tall man had been smoking, cupping his cigarette, in case it started to rain. He had been looking right at me.
His face had been pasty looking, making him appear ill. It wasn’t until his hand had grabbed me that I had realized it was made of latex. He had covered his face and his hands. Above the wrist, I had seen a small amount of skin and it had been darker than mine was.