“And one course of action determined the other.” She looked at Jamie. “But she must have known, Jamie! Garris wasn't a physician! She must have known what he was into—and she went along with it.” She looked furious. “Erik's mom—his precious mother—did this to him.”
“Or let it be done to him.” He tossed the photo back in the box. “Bury the bastard again. Erik never has to know.”
She shook her head. “Ren wants me to talk to him.”
James looked confused. “Erik?”
“No—Garris. She talked to Smythe this morning.”
“She went to see him?” James was surprised.
“I'm not sure. She sounded almost panicky.”
“What did she want?” James asked worriedly.
“For me to contact Dr. Drewsome. She wants me to ask him if he had any backups, that aren't on Symtech's computers.”
Jamie gave a low whistle. “Holy shit,” he whispered. “Is she okay?”
“I don't know,” Merrie told him seriously. “She's not home.”
“At work?” he asked hopefully.
“Never came in today.” At his expression, she shook her head. “Zar and Erik went after Dusty. Smythe sent him to Dachau. Zar called me just before you got here.”
Dusty. Dachau. Bad news. “Did you tell him about Ren?”
“Who—Dusty?”
“No—Zar.”
“Not yet. I was too busy not telling him about Erik, an-and Dr. Drewsome.” She hesitated. “James, it's a lot to ask, but can you come with me to the cemetery? I-I need to do what Ren wanted, but I don't—” She looked around her cheery house and shuddered.
“You don't want him here." James was thinking hard. “I'll ring Josh on my cellphone, and you keep trying Ren. I'll ask him to swing by her place, pick her up.” He smiled, but there was no amusement in his eyes. “Seems to me it'll be better if we stick together right now.”
Merrie smiled, relieved. “Tell Josh to hurry, James.” She shivered. “I hate visiting cemeteries at night.”
* * * *
Twenty minutes later she'd emptied her bank account. While they were fighting to put out the fire in her house, poking and prodding the ruins to find her body, she walked in and bought a cheap cellphone. Deftly, she transferred the numbers from her old one and tossed it in the trash.
She spent another two hours in a hairdresser's, and considered it well worth the effort. The woman who walked out and into a clothing store wasn't the same one who'd walked in.
She pulled out the ripped page from last year's phone book, that she'd found at the beauty salon. Drew Garris had still been a name on the registers then, instead of a name on a gravestone.
Fifteen minutes later, her taxi stopped in front of his house.
For sale. It would have been easier with Jamie, but Ren didn't let it sway her. Dr. Drewsome had a bad habit. It had been lodged in his brain, and she'd recalled it from the unwanted forays she'd taken through his mind. He liked to keep a key in the garden. It should still be there, under a garden gnome.
The gnome was an incongruity in itself. Ugly, and so personal. Unlike Dr. Drewsome who'd been good-looking and impersonal. Only his personality had qualified as ugly.
The face on the gnome had been diminished over the past year; worn by the elements as Drew Garris must have been by his sojourn in the ground. That implacable coldness was with her still, and spurred on by her hatred for the man who'd walked these grounds. Even now, she was a little surprised she had it in her to feel such hatred. Maybe that was all that was left once regret had had its way. She'd just walked away from everyone she knew and everyone she valued. Now she was planning on taking down the support system they'd relied on for their entire lives.
Do I have the right?
Yes. Because, she'd read something else in Smythe's mind: a sense of ownership. Like a patent on a product. Mexico had been just the beginning. The first step in a marketing venture.
Not if I have anything to say about it.
Ren inserted the key in the lock, turned it, and pushed open the door.
* * * *
Josh stood there outside Ren's house. He couldn't take it in; couldn't focus. Ren. Where was Ren?
They'd bickered and battled and given each other a hard time, but she was his sister in all ways but blood. Maybe, if she was right about the genetic engineering, they had links in that, too.
The house was gutted, and so was Josh. Smoke drifted in his eyes and a few stray sparks stung his skin. He wanted to force himself to concentrate, to see if she was in the wreckage, but he couldn't. He was too afraid.
He wanted to howl. Ren, tramping across the desert and frying her nose off; Ren, giving her all so Dusty could stay alive.
Ren, in scientist mode, who was nearly as excited about her damned fungus as he was about a pile of Drepanosaurus bones.
I don't want to see her. If she was lying in the wreckage, he didn't want to be the one to find her...
“Is she in there?” The voice brought him back to reality. His head jerked up, and he realised, in shock, that Charles Smythe was here. Apparently, it had been enough of a tragedy to drag him out of his office. “Is she in there?” he asked again, harshly.
Josh wanted to believe it was concern for Ren that gave Smythe's voice that harsh sound. But didn't Smythe know what it would do to him if he had to find her? To see her body crisp and burnt in the wreckage?
“I-I don't know,” Josh gasped. He was white, even to his lips.
“Use it and tell me,” Smythe demanded. “So I can locate her.”
Josh closed his eyes, but he wasn't searching for Ren. He was searching Smythe's pockets. Reading the words on his Palm Pilot, that had gone out as an order: "Find Magnus and restrain."
Josh opened his eyes. He wasn't searching the wreckage for one of his best friends—for anything or anyone. Besides, Merrie would know, and he could take it a lot better if Merrie told him—and reassured him Ren was at peace.
Instead of finding her in pieces. He nearly gagged at the thought.
Smythe saw it and interpreted it as confirmation. “She's here, then,” he muttered. "Fuck it!”
No sorrow—just frustration. Despite his profane reaction, Mr. Charles Smythe really didn't give a fuck.
After all these years...
In that moment, Josh hated him. He looked at him with a gaze that was every bit as smouldering as the building at his back. “Yeah,” he said harshly. “She's here.”
* * * *
Josh got out of his car and walked into Merrie's house without knocking. He went straight to Merrie and grabbed her arms. “I need to know,” he said.
“What?” she asked him worriedly.
Josh released her, rolled his eyes heavenward in silent thanks, and sank into a chair. Jamie was at his side a second later, a can of Coke in his hand. “Have a drink, Josh,” he urged.
Josh nodded, sipped, then sank back and worked on regaining his equilibrium. Eyes closed, he told them, “Ren's house is gutted. A fire.”
Jamie shot a glance at Merrie. She shook her head.
“Smythe was there. He wanted me to check—” His voice tapered off, and he had to swallow hard. He looked at Merrie. “I mean, I know you do it, Mer, but—”
“She's got more guts than the rest of us put together,” James said. “I can't believe Smythe would ask you. Didn't he know how it would hit you? Hit any of us?”
“He didn't care. He'd sent out an order to pick her up and restrain her.”
“Ren rang this morning. She'd talked to him,” Merrie said, her voice hushed. “It has to do with Dr. Drewsome's research. I think she wants to see it.” Her eyes were frightened as she added, “She sounded really scared—”
“Does Dusty know?” Josh asked.
“Dusty's out of the country. Sick as a dog, but determined. Zar and Erik have gone after him,” Jamie said.
“Where ‘out of the country'?”
“Dachau.”
"The fuckin’ c
oncentration camp?!" Josh exclaimed. “It's gotta be Smythe, playing games again,” he said angrily. “Makes me glad I lied to the bastard.”
“What did you do, Josh?” Jamie asked.
“Told him Ren was in her house.” At Jamie's look, Josh added flippantly, “He wasn't being sensitive to my needs.”
Jamie snorted. Merrie smiled.
“What's he gonna do to you when he finds out?”
Josh shrugged. “Even we finely-tuned specimens can make an occasional mistake. I'll blame it on emotional trauma. I was pretty traumatised, I'll tell ya. I'll kill Ren, as soon as I find her alive.”
* * * *
“I should have brought a flashlight,” Josh complained, looking around the cemetery.
“I should have brought some earplugs,” James retorted. “Between you and Merrie, a sane man can't even think.”
“Find me a sane man, and I'll ask him,” Josh told him. There was still an orangy glow in the sky, but many of the trees were in silhouette. It was the time of dusk where vision was diminished anyway—everything fading to shades of grey. He found himself watching warily for signs of movement, then trying not to watch anything at all for fear he'd see it. Being here with Merrie didn't exactly inspire confidence. “Could have picked a better spot for a party,” he remarked, with an attempt at lightness. “Couldn't you have done this some place more ‘cheery'?”
“I know this is hard on you, with your ‘third eye’ and all,” James told him mockingly. “How's the view ‘down under'? Any classic coffins we should know about?”
“Shut up, Wickham! At least I don't knock things over every time I fart—”
“That hasn't happened in years!” James argued.
“Sh-h!” Merrie hushed them. She looked as though she were listening to something under the ground.
“Do you hear something?” Josh asked her fearfully. He was doing his damnedest to keep his focus—all of it—above the ground.
She took the flashlight and shone it upwards, under her chin, in the best camper's storytelling style. She waited a moment, then said, amused, “No. I just wanted you to stop arguing. Are you sure we lost all those guards? I don't like uninvited company when I'm at work,” she joked.
“I'm not Ren!” James retorted. “How the heck do I know about the guards? Josh?”
“Only car here is ours. Why are we here?” Josh asked, bluntly this time. “Why didn't we do this at your house?”
“I'm a little reluctant to contact him,” she admitted. She added, a little sheepishly, “This kind of setting can get me in the mood.”
“In the mood for what?” Josh asked her. “Is this some proclivity I should tell Zar about?”
Jamie burst out laughing.
“Pipe down, Jamie! You're loud enough to wake the dead.”
Merrie was joking, but James looked thoughtful. “That's something I've always wondered about,” he told her. “Does noise matter?”
“Not to me,” she replied. “Tell you what—as soon as Dr. Drewsome arrives, you can ask him.” She turned to Josh with a chuckle. “If you'd feel more comfy, Josh, we can do this at your house.”
“Like hell!”
Jamie smirked. “'Like hell', huh? Can't be your place, then. Wouldn't want old Dr. Drewsome to feel too much at home.”
* * * *
Ren started in the bedroom, and worked her way along the walls, knocking and prodding. The best place would be the fireplace, with its brick, but she was saving that till last. Word was, Drewsome had died in the bedroom. She gave a shiver. Better to get that part of it over with before dark.
She knew she was losing her edge. She'd never been able to hold onto anger. The kind of anger she'd experienced this afternoon had been powerful, cold, and implacable. She'd felt rather proud of herself that she could manifest something like that.
Cold bitch.
Yeah! She grinned.
The best thing about it had been the numbness it generated. Her biggest problem had always been an inability to tune out other people's thoughts in moments of intensity, beit hers or theirs. It was the same with any convictions and decisions. She was crippled by her ability to see both sides—her anger undermined by extenuating circumstances. Today, that hadn't been a problem.
Of course, you didn't give it much of a test. The conversations carrying on around her in the beauty parlour hadn't exactly been riveting or intense. Still, she'd been able to let it all wash over her with no distractions.
The closet was mirrored and she caught a glimpse of herself. Damn, I look good! she thought, surprised anew. She wished she could show Merrie.
Then, she wished she could show Dusty. Her thoughts leapt from there to wondering how Dusty was. She plunked down on the carpet, momentarily defeated. I cut all the ties. It won't be safe for any of them to hang out with me now. Not until I resolve this, anyway.
She wondered whether it was safe to talk with Merrie. She needed to find out whether Drewsome's ghoul had given her any hints. Were their phones bugged? It sounded so paranoid, but once Smythe realised she'd cleaned out her bank, he'd know she was on the run.
He'll want to know if I'm in contact with them. It didn't take a whole lot of reasoning to figure out the rest. The threat had been there, in his mind.
She moved downstairs, and found a white-painted, thickly-carpeted closet. As far as habitats went, it wasn't bad. The closeness of it made her feel more secure, and she could have her flashlight on without anyone seeing.
Dr. Drewsome owed her—owed them all. It suited her to play squatter in his luxury house.
Ren pulled out her laptop. Taking a lesson from Merrie, she deftly changed the desktop from businesslike to gaudy and cheerful, so the reflection in her closet was a warm yellowy-orange. Then, she leaned back and pulled out a chocolate bar and a bottle of Diet Pepsi.
Some time in the night, there were noises in the house—sudden thunks and footsteps; doors closing; the sound of a nonexistent TV; water running. Ren shivered, closed her eyes tightly, and tried to tune out those brief flickers of awareness, that told her who it was—and gave her some idea why they hadn't successfully sold the house.
Dr. Drewsome's afterlife wasn't all that peaceful—and he was having as hard a time settling down tonight as she was.
* * * *
“Are you sure we've got the right place?” Josh yelled to Merrie. During the last hour, he'd overcome most of his wariness, and now was just plain bored.
“Of course, I'm sure. What do you expect? Some beacon to rise up out of the ground, pointing the way to his grave?” Merrie snapped at him. Cemeteries were neither peaceful nor restful to her. “Darned if this place isn't crowded tonight!” she said with some asperity.
Jamie looked over at her. “I don't even want to know...”
“It's not like any of us attended his funeral,” Josh went on.
“We were too busy having a party,” James remarked.
“I don't think this is the appropriate place,” Josh hinted to him, then promptly fell over a chunky marker.
James helped him up, but something about the gravestone caught his eye. Something familiar. He reached in his pocket and pulled out a lighter. In the flare of the flame he read, “'Andrew Garris, Physiologist, Molecular Biologist, Geneticist.’ Doesn't like to brag, does he?”
“What is that thing?”
“That's what I'm trying to figure out. I'll bet he designed the stone himself,” James sniggered. “Something for the ages.”
“Small and potent, like his product,” Josh muttered.
“Getting introspective, Josh?” James asked him, more seriously.
Josh sighed. “Well, he can't exactly expect us to mourn him now, can he?”
Merrie joined them. Jamie could tell she was nervous. “Well, this is it!” she said, with attempted brightness.
“Just hurry it up, Mer. I want to get out of here.” Josh was back to being wary.
Even Jamie was a little surprised when Merrie sat down on the gravestone. S
he shot him a smile. “It's just a rock, Jamie.”
“Yeah, Mr. Geology,” Josh hissed.
Merrie stared at the horizon. Her gaze loosened, became unfocussed. Josh felt the gooseflesh begin to dance across his skin, and the hairs on his neck prickled. It was as though an icy wind had swept past them, stealing some of their body temperature away.
To gather substance. From their own dispelled vaporous breaths, a form began to coalesce in translucent swirls and eddies. Josh was okay until the eyes took shape. Then, he took a quick step back, behind Jamie.
Jamie was shuddering, his fists clenched tight. Temper. He'd despised Drewsome. Josh hoped he was mad enough to defend the both of them.
“I always hoped you'd summon me, Meredith,” the hollow voice said.
His words filled Josh with disgust, and dampened a lot of his fear. Who did the guy think he was? It was as though he'd had the whole thing planned, so he wouldn't have to die.
Wouldn't have to suffer for his crimes.
“Fuck off, Drewsome,” Josh told him.
Jamie actually jumped. He'd been so immersed in his anger that he hadn't given any thought to Josh's. At Josh's words, a small gravemarker to their right cracked in a quick fracturing of stone, and then Jamie started laughing. He'd been so tense about this damned thing.
Josh was eyeing the fractured stone. “Fart, Wickham?” he asked. “You're gonna have to pay for that.”
There was anger sizzling in the air now. Drewsome wasn't happy with their disrespect. He'd taught them to fear him back then—he expected them to fear him more now.
Merrie was anxious to end this. Despite Josh's and Jamie's reactions, she still feared Drew Garris. She had a horrible feeling that having given him this much substance, he'd find a way to come back and plague her. She couldn't help but wonder if this was what he'd had planned all along. “Where're your back-up files?” she asked, her voice wavering slightly.
He heard the sounds of nervousness and preyed on it, the way he always had. “'Back-up files'?” He smiled at her.
Merrie shivered. His smile was so dark, despite the fact it was made out of pale wisps of vapour.
“The ones where you made us,” Josh said impatiently. “The ones you used to screw Symbio.”
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