Awakenings

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Awakenings Page 10

by Edward Lazellari


  “Just so we’re clear,” Colby continued, “there are a bunch of envelopes ready to get mailed to various law and news agencies in the event of my death.”

  “You are dead.”

  “There are still people in high places who will read my mail. I made some serious accusations that may or may not be true, but they would make any cop or reporter’s career, and you can bet they’ll investigate. You might work around the heat, but it’ll slow you down, make life difficult. I’m betting time is of the essence.”

  Colby waited for a response. They were playing for high stakes. It warranted some reaction from the other player. Colby was now running on fumes. He needed to see that worried look again on Dorn’s face to fuel his rebellion.

  Dorn smiled at the dogs as he groomed them with his hands.

  “Whenever one faction doesn’t want to see a group gain power,” the detective continued, “there’s always another that does. My guess is you’re in a race against people who’d be happy to see your cousin inherit his empire.”

  Dorn continued stroking the Doberman’s head. “Look at you, Colby. One drawback to being heartless is the accompanying numbness, which always brings about a loss of fear. People forget to be afraid once you remove pain and emotion from their lives. Take Sweeny for example … at home, people have been flayed alive for talking to me that way. That toothless miscreant lacks fear. There isn’t enough pain in his life. But…”

  Dorn’s attention wandered for a moment. When it returned, he surveyed the town around him. “I started this search for the prince cautiously, opting for a surgical approach in a world I barely understood,” Dorn said. “A strange land of magical drought that I never knew existed. I’ve since found my footing, Colby—we’re locating streams of magical energy here and there, buried deep. Enough to empower more ambitious sorceries. I’m reluctant because this place might yet have some uses for me and my ilk back in Aandor, but at some point, very soon, I will abandon my ‘surgical’ approach. And that will not bode well for the innocents of this world.”

  Dorn’s words were too subtle for his tone. Colby thought of his son, Torrence, and the few others he still loved. It filled him with dread, just when he thought he’d exhausted his reservoir of that emotion. “You’ll never find this kid without me, Dorn. I’m that good,” Colby said, trying to reclaim his leverage.

  Krebe approached silently with a large duffel bag from the taxi’s trunk. He unzipped it, revealing dozens of thumping velvet sacks writhing about like a colony of rats. Dorn reached into the bag and pulled out a familiar velvet sack. Krebe and the bag went back to the cab. Dorn twirled the velvet sack around playfully on its drawstring before Colby.

  “Is that mine?” Colby asked. He didn’t expect Dorn to have his heart on him.

  “I don’t know. Is it?” Dorn pulled the heart out of the bag and scrutinized it as he turned it around. The dogs began to salivate at the scent of fresh meat. “Hmmm. Your left and right ventricles were quite clotted. Only a few years left from what Symian discerned. The color in this one looks healthy. But then, they all look the same from the outside. You know, Colby … we don’t have to replace your heart to restore your life.”

  Colby suspected a con. “I don’t follow.”

  “Any heart will do, as long as the blood type matches. There are a few spry but not so bright young men in my employ. Take my friend, Salim, in the cab. Doesn’t smoke, never drinks alcohol, and prays to God five times a day. Never underestimate the aerobic advantages of prayer, Colby. Think about it. What use would millions of dollars be if you could only enjoy it for the short while your heart has left.”

  “Millions?”

  “Millions. My people live by the gold standard. Krakens, Gryphons … Phoenixes,” he said shaking the photocopy of the coins. “It doesn’t matter who adorns the coin, it’s ninety-one percent pure gold. We don’t care about green paper or dead presidents. My coffers here in the United States can be yours after I leave.”

  The word “millions” echoed through Colby’s head like a scream escaping a canyon. With that kind of wealth, he could hire a dream team of lawyers; probably buy himself a pardon if he “donated” to the right political candidates. And, Tory would be set for life. Twenty-four-hour medical care with private nurses and the best doctors on earth. That much money bought life. Colby glimpsed at the driver in the taxi—the poster child for despondency.

  “What about Salim?” he asked.

  “He’ll be grateful. His deity has promised him seventy-two virgins feeding him sweetmeats in a garden after he moves on. Everyone’s happy.”

  Colby had known his days were numbered even before the forced coronary extraction. He could feel it in his wheezing breath after a four-story walk-up. Now, Dorn was offering seven figures with a few extra decades of debauchery added in—or redemption. It was the kind of offer that made for great German literature. Some slacker punk would get his decrepit ticker or buy the farm. This was the real thing—wealth and long life. He could find this kid, he knew that. But the offer didn’t change the issue.

  “It’s a good deal. But it doesn’t address why I brought you here. I’m not even sure you can reverse what you did to me and Carla. I want it now, before I find the kid. Otherwise, you can go to hell.”

  “You wouldn’t be as motivated. Trust me, Colby, your heart is far more into completing the job sitting in my pocket.”

  “Goddamn it, Dorn … I’ve conned enough to know a con when I hear one! You don’t give a rat’s ass about anybody that works for you. Everyone’s a mark to achieving your ends. You’ll shaft me just for shits and giggles. Now is that my fucking heart or not?”

  “Let’s find out,” Dorn said. He dropped the organ between the Dobermans.

  “NO!” Colby cried.

  The dogs tore at it. Colby clutched his chest in anticipation. Instead, he heard a tortured yowl. It came from the church.

  “It would appear not,” Dorn said.

  Colby ran to the church and burst through the doors. Carla lay before the altar convulsing, screaming. A minister tried to help her as black blood shot from every orifice in her body. She was a perforated bag of soy sauce.

  “I think she’s having a seizure,” the minister shrieked. “Please, call a doctor!”

  No doctor could help her now. Colby sat on the end of a pew clutching his own chest as the aisle became a river. He wanted to cry, but was dry as a bone. Dead men didn’t have tears. He ignored the minister shouting to call 911. Colby felt nauseated, but didn’t even have enough life left in him to puke.

  Carla’s torso heaved and she gasped for breath. Her breathing slowed. Then, she just stopped.

  The door creaked. Dorn stood at the entrance. He cut a dark silhouette against the winter sky. “A shame,” he said.

  “Is that what’s in store for me, Dorn? For the cabdriver, for every other wretch unlucky enough to have entered your sphere?”

  “I don’t believe in fortune.” Dorn held up four manila envelopes. Even from a distance Colby recognized them as his “insurance” letters. They burst into flames in Dorn’s hands. He dropped them on the floor and watched them burn. The minister ran for the fire extinguisher, threatening to call the police.

  “By the way … everyone these letters were addressed to will be dead within the hour. Don’t ever try to blackmail me again. There are worse things than what she went through,” he said, pointing to Carla. “I’m sure you’ll take my word on that.”

  The cab pulled up in front of the church. Dorn turned to leave.

  “Are you the devil?” Colby shouted.

  Dorn considered the question. “I’m not as forgiving,” he finally said. “Find the boy.”

  CHAPTER 8

  ONION THEORY

  Lelani and Seth placed the unconscious detective back in the police cruiser’s passenger seat. They fastened the seat belt around him to hold him in place and shut the door. Seth turned off the car’s headlights and put the driver’s hand on the steering wheel. It
was about 2:00 A.M. Lelani was grateful for the cold drizzle that kept everyone indoors at this hour.

  “They’ll both be okay,” Lelani said. “I tended their wounds and gave them some sleep dust to keep them out a while longer.”

  The radio squawked. “Four-One Adam, what is your status, over?”

  “Damn, they have to check in,” Seth noted.

  “You’ll have to respond,” Lelani answered.

  “Great! Impersonating an officer on top of all the other charges.”

  “I cannot. There’s no female in this unit,” Lelani said.

  “I don’t know cop talk,” Seth argued. “They have their own language.”

  “Four-One Adam, please respond.”

  “We need to buy a little time,” Lelani said. “Keep it simple.”

  Seth picked up the radio and took a deep breath. “This is Four-One Adam. We’re at MacDonnell’s home. Wife has been informed of situation. We’re, uh … hanging tight.”

  Lelani pounded a fist on the car and gave Seth a grave look.

  “What?!” Seth said. “Sounds like something a cop would say.”

  There was a long silence, or maybe it wasn’t very long and just seemed that way.

  “Affirmative Four-One Adam. Stay with the family until further notice. Over.”

  “See,” Seth said.

  “Just shut the car door,” Lelani ordered, as she headed back into the building.

  The family was in the living room sitting beside Callum, who rested on the couch. Lelani’s hands were grimy and not suited for what had she had to do next. She found the kitchen sink at the end of a granite island that had been decorated with candles. The wife had been planning some sort of ritual for the evening.

  Lelani watched from the kitchen as Catherine MacDonnell cooled her husband’s forehead with a damp washcloth. The fever was a good sign that Cal was burning out the last of Symian’s venom. The wife had insisted upon going to the hospital, but Lelani stressed that Cal would be dead by the time the doctors could develop an antitoxin. Lelani recognized a warrior’s spirit in the woman, evident by her stand against Hesz. She was pleased to see this spirit tempered by wisdom after Catherine agreed to leave Cal’s care in her hands.

  The little girl sat near her parents, clutching her stuffed toy, eyes red from crying. A true family, Lelani noted. She regretted her earlier remark about Cal repudiating his American marriage. There would be much pain and hardship for this family in the days to come, decisions about continuing together, or not at all. Lelani had seen many families broken by politics and war. She began to resent her role. It bothered her that this was even an issue. After all, who were these people to her? What did she owe them? The success of this mission would determine her race’s survival—the survival of many kingdoms—and possibly even the very world she found herself in at the moment. It was not her choice whether or not to help Cal recover his identity. And yet, if left alone, if she didn’t recover the captain’s memories, then no one need ever know, and his family here could persist. But could she complete the mission without MacDonnell’s help?

  This strange world ran at a hummingbird’s pace. Life here moved on fossil fuels, the stewed and liquefied remnants of a billion, billion dead things. The most basic machines stirred faster than the swiftest beast. Even the peasants made life-altering decisions at the speed of thought. In addition, the world provided few places in which to recharge her arsenal of spells. It was a desert concerning magic. From the moment Lelani had arrived, she had felt overwhelmed.

  She had read about this culture in Proust’s records; tomes he’d penned during his decades of travel, yet they lacked many details and were incomplete. Lelani scribbled addenda in the margins of the text. It gave her an odd feeling to do this, not because she improved upon the work of a genius beyond her level, but because to do so implied that she believed this fool’s quest had a chance of succeeding; that there would be a world left to go back to and its scholars would study her observations. There was no one but herself to depend on. Her race did not even exist on this planet anymore. Why did Proust choose her out of a multitude of students? She trusted his wisdom, and it was enough for her that he believed she could do this job. The opportunity, as unlikely as she was to succeed, was priceless. If she did succeed in safely bringing the boy home, however, Duke Athelstan would be indebted to her, and through her, to her people.

  She had expected support from Seth—a former schoolmate, united by their shared loyalties and origins. She couldn’t have been more wrong. Instead, he siphoned her energy, tested her spirit, challenged her resolve, and fragmented her focus. His maturity had arrested at thirteen. Lelani was mothering a delinquent adolescent. She was at a loss to explain the memory wipe. Perhaps an attack that affected the entire group?

  A tug at her side broke Lelani from her thoughts. It was the girl.

  “Can I have a glass of water?” Bree asked.

  Lelani looked through the cupboards for a glass.

  “Bree, I want you over here by me!” Cat said from the couch.

  “But the nice horse-lady is getting me water,” Bree said.

  “Bree!”

  “Go to your mother,” Lelani said. “I will bring it to you.”

  Seth entered the apartment.

  “What took you so long?” Lelani inquired. “All I said was shut the car door.”

  “Went to get cigs around the corner.”

  “We could have used some more peroxide and bandages for these cuts,” Cat said.

  “Sorry.”

  “Can you put the door downstairs back on its hinges?” Lelani asked.

  “Not really. I just stuck it in the frame. I’m not a carpenter.” He took out a Camel.

  “No smoking,” Cat said.

  “Lady, I’m homeless and penniless because of all this shit, and my nerves are shot to hell. Have some consideration.”

  “Language, please. I have a five-year-old here. Smoke outside.”

  “There’s fucking gratitude. We save her life and…”

  “Seth!” Lelani shouted. “Either finish boarding up the bedroom window, or sit down and shut up.”

  Seth grabbed a Budweiser from the fridge, then took a seat in the corner and grumbled that if women were so equal, why were they always asking guys to do hard labor like fix doors or sleep on the wet spot. “Hey, maybe you can cast a spell that fixes doors,” he said twiddling his fingers back and forth at Lelani.

  Lelani brought water to the MacDonnells. She picked up the coffee table in front of the couch and moved it to the corner to make more room in the center. Then she placed herself between Cat and Seth.

  “Do you have a last name?” Cat asked.

  “Stormbringer,” Lelani answered.

  “What the hell kind of Norwegian death-metal name is that?” Seth asked. The unlit cigarette rolled along his lips.

  “It’s Centauran, and it’s a prestigious name among my clan.”

  Seth snorted.

  “Please have a seat,” Cat said.

  “Thank you. I prefer to stand.”

  “The horse-lady can’t sit, Mommy,” Bree said.

  “Bree, that’s not nice. I apologize. I don’t know why she calls you that,” Cat said.

  Lelani smiled. “Brianna is every bit James MacDonnell’s granddaughter. Where I’m from, the MacDonnells are legendary because of their inherent strong will and a gift for seeing through deception. It’s why they are effective lawmen. Cal, too, could probably discern something odd about me if he were conscious.”

  “I don’t need ESP to know that you’re odd,” Seth cut in.

  “A child is far more accepting of the incredible than any adult,” Lelani continued. “Their minds are not clouded by preconceived notions. And a MacDonnell child…? Well, I have no doubt Bree can see flaws in my illusion.”

  “So, what are you really?” Seth asked. “’Cause I for one would really like to know.”

  “I told you … I’m a centaur.”

  �
�A what?” Cat asked.

  “A centaur,” Seth snorted. “Half man, half horse. Except,” he added, gesturing toward her breasts with his beer, “you’re a girl.”

  “Yes. That would be where baby centaurs come from. The one constant throughout the universe is that males could never handle the pain of childbirth.”

  Cat grinned.

  Seth wasn’t amused. “So you mean to tell me those long sexy legs aren’t really there, and that at some point your beautiful body, the one I’ve been fantasizing about all day, turns into a horse’s ass?”

  “I wouldn’t have put it quite as eloquently, but that is correct.”

  Seth turned to Cat. “You do know this girl’s on medication?”

  Cat turned to Lelani with a guarded look. “It does seem like a lot to swallow.”

  “Even after all you’ve witnessed?”

  “It’s not like there aren’t eight-foot people in the world,” Seth said. “Most of them just happen to play for the NBA.”

  “Is it true you’re on medication?” Cat asked Lelani. Lelani noticed that Cat’s breathing changed after asking the question. She was tense. Seth’s game of devil’s advocate was dangerous.

  “To cope with pollutants in your atmosphere,” Lelani said. “Aandor is a pristine world with little industry. I’m more susceptible to the airborne toxins than a human.”

  “Human?” Cat said.

  Cat looked even more uncomfortable hearing language of that sort. Lelani held her husband’s life in her hands and she realized talk of other worlds would undermine Cat’s confidence.

  “I told you she was nuts,” Seth said.

  “You are a feckless dullard, Seth Raincrest,” Lelani scolded. “After what you’ve seen this night…”

  “Everything has an explanation. I just don’t know your bag of tricks.” Turning to Cat, Seth went on. “She shows up at my door this morning claiming she knew me thirteen years ago. That would have made her about four or five years old. No one I know can remember spit about being four, much less me. Hell, I can’t even remember being eleven.”

 

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